In Spades
by jinx7985
Summary: When Ezra is undercover, stress starts ratcheting up, and there are hintings from outsiders that Ezra may be walking a very fine line between law and lawlessness...
1. Chapter 1

"Chris?" a quieted voice asked, followed by two gentle knuckle raps on the door.

Looking up from the notepad he was writing on, Larabee signaled for JD to come in. He laid his pen down on the pad and watched JD close the office door securely. He spoke into the phone at his ear, "Let me call you back," and promptly hung up.

JD held a file in his hands, which he presented to Chris before taking a seat. "Someone accessed Eddie Craig's file."

Chris nodded as he opened the file. "That's what we were hoping." He looked up at JD's concerned face. A flash of panic flitted across his mind as he asked, "It held up, didn't it?"

"No, it isn't that. I mean, yeah, it held up," JD stammered.

"So what's the problem?" Larabee asked, closing the file he had been perusing, even though he knew the contents of it. He gave his full attention to his agent before him.

"It's _who_ accessed the file that has me worried."

Chris shook his head in askance. "Just spit it out JD."

"DEA."

Chris's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Why?"

"I know, right? It's not like they have any jurisdiction over this case. I just thought you should know."

"But there's no way that they know who he really is?"

JD shrugged. "Can't be sure. I mean, anyone can access the Eddie Craig file, and they'll get the file I put there. But I don't know what kind of clearance the DEA has. The Craig file does not tie to his real file. At all. I put all sorts of encryption and firewalls on his file. On all our files. I just…" he paused. "I just don't like this, Chris. Something ain't right."

Chris nodded. _Jesus, Standish, what have you gotten yourself into?_

7777777

Oak Falls, Colorado – inhabited by six thousand and some change residents. The police force was small, as compared to more densely populated nearby cities, like Denver, which lay only 15 or so miles away.

It was a nice town, as towns go. It would be just the type of place that might inspire someone to settle down with the girl of their dreams and pop out a couple of kids. Or setup a neighborhood store or market. Or, if you were Benjamin Sheppard, you could set up your armory for the sale of illegal assault weapons.

Eddie Craig, sometimes known in other circles as Ezra Standish, hated it here. For two months, he laughed when he was supposed to, hauled boxes of cargo from one place to another, and generally catered to the everyday business needs of the only shipping, receiving and moving company in the county, which happened to be owned by Sheppard. The books were clean, the profit was legit. It was a bona fide business.

It was exhausting.

But it wasn't the only business that was run out of this building and by this owner; one was the legit moving business that employed 16 loyal workers with jobs ranging from accounts receivable clerks to truck drivers, with all manner of things in between. The other business, the one Ezra had been investigating 24 hours a day for the better part of two months, involved shipping weapons and, as he found out only recently, drugs. Sheppard's business also catered to the need for explosives (because seriously, who _doesn't_ need their explosives shipped?).

Ezra, or Eddie, as he was known in this circle, fit in all too well with his surroundings; he understood the material they were shipping and he was easy to talk to. These people didn't have any type of political agenda or radical ideas; they were in it solely for the money. And while Standish could understand the lure of the all-enticing dollar, he deplored the means to come by that dollar.

He had gotten his foot in the door of Sheppard's business by applying for a legit job through a parole officer of the courts. Knowing that the daily business was the legit one, and the night-time business was what they were after, Ezra had been set up as a second shift laborer for the moving company.

It took less than a week to prove his worth when he saw a crate containing C4 explosive being unloaded from a truck. The men unloading it were handling it as though it were made of glass. Ezra had stood back and laughed, knowing that the true nature of the compound was remarkably stable.

He walked over to the guys unloading the crate with the blocks of explosive and calmly put the box he was carrying down on the nearby desk. He slid up next to Sheppard and his two lackeys and peered around them as they pried open the top of the crate and looked at its contents.

He shook his head and laughed. When he was met with an inquisitive look from Sheppard, he shrugged as in apology and started to turn towards the box he had been carrying. Sheppard said to his retreating back, "What's so funny?"

Ezra stopped in his tracks and slowly turned, a half smile on his face. He went back to the crate and elbowed one of the lackeys out of the way. He moved quickly, forming a fist with his hand and smacking the malleable compound within the small crate. The three men beside him shied away from his action as they realized he was going to strike the explosive.

When there was no subsequent 'boom' following his strike, the three men righted themselves and returned to their previous positions, all now sporting looks of interest, if not accompanied by annoyance.

Standish grabbed a small piece of the explosive, kneading it into amoldable mass. Without making eye contact with any of his spectators, he continued to work the clay-like pieces in his hand.

"It's C4 gentlemen," he said, and looked up at the inquiring faces. He flipped the small ball to Sheppard. "Not dynamite."

Sheppard considered the small piece of clay-like explosive in his hand, then looked up at the southerner. "You know about this stuff?"

Standish shrugged his shoulder noncommittally. "I know a little."

"Such as?"

He took the small piece back from Sheppard, ignoring the two lackeys who still looked on intently. "C4, also known as plastique, is a very stable compound and can handle pretty much any condition during shipment. You don't run the same type of safety issues as you would if you were shipping dynamite or nitro." Continuing to work the small piece in his hand, he looked behind him at the desk where his discarded box lay, and reached past the parcel and grabbed the empty flowerpot sitting on a desk. With the C4 now easily pliable, he molded it to the inside of the decorative ceramic pot. He then wrapped the pot in that morning's newspaper that was sitting nearby, and handed it back to Sheppard, who had been watching him with interest. For all intents and purposes, it looked like someone had packed their valuables into newspaper in preparation of a move or storage.

"Sometimes plain sight is the best hiding place. The less obvious, the better." _Wasn't that the truth_. Ezra had then turned back to his parcel and picked it up and started to walk away. Sheppard chuckled behind him, uttering "I'll be damned." He looked to the slowly retreating back of the southerner, and with a chuckle he called to him, "Come on back here boy. Tell me what else you know."

After that, it was easy to provide ideas for hiding arms within benign-looking shipments. Hell, he'd seen most of the hiding places before in other ATF cases, some of which were rather clever. Although it felt a bit off giving pointers to smugglers, it was a means to an end. And if this played out right, then they would never have a chance to employ half of the suggestions Ezra had given them.

Sheppard took a liking to Eddie, spending time with him both during and outside of work. He clearly appreciated Eddie's intellect and wit, as well as his creativity. He also seemed to take comfort in the fact that Eddie didn't seem to be bothered by what they were shipping.

Even though Sheppard had Craig checked out when he was hired on, he used his own connections and dug even further and harder into Eddie's past now. He had discovered JD's planted file with "Eddie's" record easily enough, highlighting several smaller crimes and culminating in a 5 year stint in prison for trafficking. When Sheppard dug deeper, he had found a few warrants out for Eddie's arrest in neighboring counties, and one in Pennsylvania. Sheppard had asked about Pennsylvania (because it seemed odd), and Ezra had just supplied a chuckle and a wry smile.

People were entitled to their secrets, after all.

And Ezra found himself drawn to Sheppard, even found himself being comfortable enough to call the man "Shep". Sheppard was a genuinely likable guy; he had a sharp wit that Standish truly appreciated, and their banter was reminiscent of Buck and JD. The man had worked hard for the business he had built himself. Sheppard had lost his wife to cancer two years prior, and had started shipping the illegal wares as a way to pay for her medical bills. After she was gone, Sheppard continued shipping. He took good care of the moving company employees, most of which were oblivious to their boss's shadier dealings, and he seemed to care genuinely about them and their families. It had given Ezra pause at several points, having to remind himself that Shep was the bad guy in this situation. But he couldn't help but think that had they met up in another life under different circumstances, they might have even ended up friends.

7777777

Ezra lay on his back staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Yes, he had been in worse places, but that didn't make him feel any better right at this moment. He repositioned again, trying to find an elusive comfortable spot. The couch beneath him had somehow become hard and unforgiving, when just a few minutes ago it was at least more comfortable than the bed.

This apartment, if it could be called that, hadn't been updated since at least 1987, at least as far as he could surmise, judging from the Miami Vice colors in the bathroom. The rug clashed with everything; its yellowish orange color tarnished and sullied from years and years of abuse; a swirling flower pattern, which may have once been white but now was quite gray, merrily twined its branches and leaves around first one, then another of its gray brethren. The furniture was a hodge-podge of dorm room rejects, the couch a clashing color of orange from the carpet. A few random chairs were arranged around the room, as though sitting in them would be enticing. As if you would ever even have guests to do so in such a dump.

The beat up microwave that sat on the counter had given up telling the time when Reagan was president. The small fridge had come from a local college, the school's emblem still proudly shining on the door. The few drapes had gone out of fashion long before the rug, and hung limply from their rods to pool on the floor. Years of abuse from sun, smoke and nicotine, as well as an obvious lack of periodic washing, faded the panels to a washed-out peach color.

The one good piece of furniture – which may have only been considered 'good' in comparison to its roommates – was the table. Oval, dark, the top scratched from years of use with uneven lacquer sealing in its scars. It was cleaner than the counter by comparison, sporting no damage that couldn't be identified. The table was sturdy.

He needed sturdy.

He spent many nights sitting at the table, playing solitaire or just shuffling. He had picked the sturdiest, cleanest chair of the bunch and made that his refuge. His place to sit and think. His place to remember who he was.

Because sometimes, that was the biggest struggle of all.

His cell phone rang, breaking him of his thoughts. He answered with a simple, "Yeah?"

"Eddie," Benjamin Sheppard's voice replied jovially. "Come down the bar. I have something for you."

Ezra ran his hand down his face. "Be there in ten."

After disconnecting the call, Ezra threw a shirt on over his t-shirt, slipped on his leather jacket, and slipped out the door.

The drive to the bar took less than 10 minutes, and Standish ordered a drink while he waited for Sheppard. As he sat at the bar he and Shep frequented in off-hours, sipping on a Jack and coke, he pondered all the information he had managed to gather on Sheppard. He had gotten copies of shipping manifestos, times and dates of shipments, even a set of books Sheppard used to track payments of the illegal gains. The man had been either so cocky or so set in his business ways of many years that he hadn't even bothered to use anything like a code, just regular shorthand that he used in his regular books. Hell, the man hadn't even invested in a decent safe.

"Eddie?"

Ezra turned on the bar stool, facing his newest friend. "What's up Shep?"

"Got an errand for you to do. I need you to pick up a delivery." He handed Ezra a slip of paper with an address. "There's gonna be a guy dropping off a truck in that lot," he pointed at the paper in Standish's hand, "in an hour. Go there, the keys will be in it. Drive it back here. Take Jon with you."

"Alright, no problem." He never asked what he was picking up, even when it was something so obviously shady as this. He just did it with a smile on his face and an accommodating attitude. He finished the last bit of his drink and slipped his leather jacket on, then headed for the door.

7777777

"Chris?"

The blond looked up from the report he was reading. Orin Travis stood at the door to his office, a questioning look on his face.

"Yes?"

Travis came inside the office and closed the door completely before sitting down. Chris kept his face impassive, even though this visit seemed… off. Travis never came to his office without calling first, and hardly ever at this late in the day. Something was up.

Travis sat in one of the two leather chairs facing Chris's desk. He took a breath and exhaled slowly, obviously getting ready to approach an uncomfortable subject. Chris hoped Buck and Vin hadn't done something too inappropriate as a practical joke this time.

"I just received a call from the director of the DEA."

_Standish_.

His face remained impassive. "Oh?"

Travis locked eyes with Chris before continuing in a monotone, "He wants to know, and I quote, '_What the fuck is the ATF doing with their guy_.'"

One eyebrow went up in confusion. "Their guy?"

"Apparently, they have been after Sheppard for quite a while now."

Chris blinked several times, letting the information sink in. "Ezra reported that the drugs are a new development," he replied calmly. "The shipping and transport of weapons, and now explosives, is '_what the fuck we're doing with their guy'_."

Travis let the flip response slide, knowing Ezra had been under for almost two months, 24 hours a day. "The director of the DEA says they have Ezra on film and video dealing and trafficking the drugs they're watching."

"He's supposed to do those things. He's undercover," Chris replied, as though he were explaining the situation to an idiot.

Travis took a deep breath before continuing. "The DEA seem to think he's a bit too comfortable in this role. It took them four days to even _consider_ he was an agent."

There was silence for several moments while Travis's statement permeated Chris's brain. Calmly, but with the obvious anger lacing his tone, Chris asked, "Are you saying that these jackoffs are suggesting he flipped?"

Travis took a breath to answer, but Chris cut him off.

"Because that upsets me a little, Orin," he announced calmly, sitting back in his chair. "The same way the Atlanta situation upsets me 'a little'."

"They said they would send this 'evidence' over by the end of the day today."

"Isn't that nice of them," he said in a way that clearly showed his disdain for the situation. "If this were anyone else, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Chris snapped.

"If this were anyone else, they wouldn't have lasted this long!" Travis snapped back, just as tersely. "It's a double-edged sword Chris. He's the best at his job. He lasts longer in these deep cover, high stress environments than 96% of his peers. 96%! That's a real number."

"And the other 4%?"

"Are usually killed."

Chris shook his head and huffed his breath.

"We have to expect that someone with Standish's talent, who can stay under for such lengths of time and has this kind of success rate… We have to _accept_ that uninformed people will think he's jumped sides because of his history. _And_ he is in fact _that_ good, even if no one else is, and that can be hard for people to wrap their heads around." Travis finished his rant red faced and out of breath.

Chris sat with his face impassive, his mouth drawn in a straight line. He sighed audibly, if not agreeing, then at least accepting the Director's point of view.

"Now," Travis continued, "when was the last time you talked to Standish?"

Chris held his gaze another moment before answering. "Vin is his contact." He reached for his desk phone, dialing Vin's extension.

"_Yeah_?" came Vin's voice.

"Can you come in here for a minute?"

"_Yeah_," he said and disconnected the call.

"He's coming," Chris said to the AD. Travis nodded.

Vin walked in without knocking. It would take an act of God to get any of them to ever knock, Larabee silently griped.

"Chris," he nodded in greeting, "Judge."

"Tanner," Travis acknowledged.

"Vin, when was your last contact with Ezra?"

Vin looked from Chris to Travis, then back to Chris before answering. "He contacts me daily."

"Well next time you –" Travis began.

"When was the last time you _talked_ to him Vin?"

He paused for a minute, then answered truthfully. "Last Thursday."

"Six days ago?" asked Travis incredulously.

"Yeah. What's wrong?" Tanner didn't seem concerned.

Chris took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, giving Travis a look. "The DEA are on to Sheppard, and they have pictures and film of Ezra dealing."

Vin looked back and forth between the two men, trying to see if they were messing with him. When it was apparent that they wanted an actual answer, he drawled out slowly and deliberately, "I know, he's told me about the dealing."

Travis met Larabee's eyes, then turned to face the sharpshooter. "They have film of him hanging out and being chummy with Sheppard, and not just at work."

Vin looked at the Assistant Director with squinted eyes, the look saying _Don't even think it_.

"They're saying he looks a little too comfortable in his surroundings," Travis added, then looked back to Chris.

Chris drew his left hand across his brow, massaging the spot above his left eyebrow. "They're _hinting_ he's in bed with Sheppard, Vin." The way he said 'hinted' clearly showed his disgust for the whole idea. He dropped his hand to his desk, looking directly at angry blue eyes.

"Well, that ain't true," Vin stated plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "He ain't flipped."

"We're not saying that he did Vin, but that is what the DEA will imply," Travis placated.

"But he's been contacting you what, daily?"

Vin nodded as he tried to wrap his head around the situation. "Yeah," he answered distractedly. "Voicemails daily, if we don't talk. Texts. I log each communication, like I'm supposed to."

"Where is he?"

"Oak Falls."

7777777

Ezra and Jon arrived at the address at the instructed time. There wasn't much by the way of conversation on the drive; Ezra didn't like young Jon, finding him cocky and irreverent, and always trying to prove how valuable he could be to Sheppard. The kid's eagerness to please and desperation to be considered valuable made him dangerous, but not in the "cool" way the boy desired. Ezra had no doubt that the kid would get himself or someone else killed within the year.

Ezra pulled the beat up, dark blue Impala next to the box truck, memorizing the license plate to relay to Vin. He also made note of the graffiti on the side. He turned to Jon, nodding his head in a way that said 'get out'.

The kid put on his best evil smile, and Ezra rolled his eyes. The only thing missing was an evil moustache-twirl and a maniacal laugh, like some cartoon villain.

Jon got out and slammed the door behind him, grating on Ezra's nerves. _Ever hear of discretion_? The kid opened the door to the truck and found the keys under the visor. He started it up, flipping on the headlights in the waning light. Ezra rolled down the sedan's window and shouted at the truck's closed window "Jon!"

Jon looked out and down at the southerner leaning across the car's front seat. He rolled down the window and barked out an insubordinate, "What?"

Ezra shook his head. This kid really got on his nerves sometimes. "You head out first, I'll be less than three minutes behind you."

Jon waved in aggravated dismissal at the other man and put the truck in gear.

"Hey!" Ezra waited until he had Jon's attention again. "Don't fuck up."

"I won't," he yelled back as he started to pull away.

_That has yet to be seen_, Ezra thought to himself.

7777777

Vin returned to Chris's office with the communication log he was keeping as Ezra's contact. In it, all emails, texts, and transcripts of phone calls during the case were organized and catalogued, and everything within the binder had an electronic backup.

"Everything is on the up and up Chris," Vin said as he handed the log to his boss. Travis took up a standing position behind Larabee to read over his shoulder.

"Have you heard from him today?" Travis asked without looking up.

Vin knew that the look he was giving the otherwise occupied AD bordered on contemptuous, but he couldn't help himself. "Yeah."

When no further answer was forthcoming, Chris looked up to Vin. "And?"

"First text was this morning, and he said all was fine and that it looked to be another 'boring day of honest labor'."

"First text? Was there another?" Travis asked, looking away from the log.

"Yeah. About an hour ago. He said he had to do an 'errand with the punk', which is the young guy that Sheppard seems to be giving a chance." At their questioning looks, he elaborated. "Ez don't like him. Says he's too eager to please."

"What kind of 'errand'?" Travis asked.

"Didn't say exactly, but it usually means picking something up or delivering something… sometimes _distributing_ something." Chris half smiled, knowing that the Texan had just chosen his words carefully, avoiding the same wording the DEA had used.

"So how do you know if it's something case-related, or if it's just a part of his employment there?" Travis pushed.

Vin smiled. "If it's part of his 'job' he says 'Back to work' or some flip comment about 'honest labor'."

"Alright. Vin, we're gonna keep this," Chris indicated the binder, "and look through it before the DEA sends their shit over."

"No problem," Vin answered easily and slunk back out the door, closing it behind him.

"Is this normal?" Travis asked. "This degree of contact with Ezra while he's under?"

Chris sighed loudly and leaned back in his chair, bringing his gaze up to meet his boss's, who still stood beside him. "This is actually better than some of his other cases. At least with this case, he can carry his phone and get these messages out. Other cases we didn't even have that."

Travis let out a troubled sigh.

Chris nodded. _Me too_.

7777777

Ezra pulled out of the lot after Jon had taken off with the truck. He watched until the kid drove through an intersection and off into the dark evening. It seemed like it was getting darker earlier every day. He turned into a convenience store in a strip-mall and grabbed a drink from the large case, which would effectively pace his car behind the truck so as not to draw attention. He had no fear of losing the truck's trail; in fact it would almost be better if they weren't seen remotely close to each other. Two vehicles following each other in close proximity in this town was sure to garner attention from someone. They were both heading for the same place anyway.

As he got back in his car, he opened the cold water and sipped it in a moment of relief. He capped the bottle and put it on the seat next to him and pulled out his phone. He started to type out the license plate number in a text message he would send to Vin, then he would head out to follow Jon. Before he could finish the whole plate number he got an incoming call. The contact info flashed up as 'JON'. He groaned. As he flipped open the phone.

"What?" he snapped. "We've been separated for less than five min—"

Jon interrupted. "I got a fucking problem." His voice was tight and held a note of panic.

Ezra's stomach dropped. "What kind of problem?" He prayed it was something inconsequential, like a flat tire.

"A cop just pulled me over."

He couldn't help but raise his voice in anger. "The _fuck_ for?"

"No idea, but if he runs the plate against my license they ain't gonna match…"

"I know!" Ezra fired up the car and pulled out of the convenience store a little faster than he should have, if he was trying to avoid unwanted attention. He took a deep breath and blew it out his nose in frustration as he adjusted his speed and switched the phone into his right hand. _Why can't anything be easy_? "Where are you, _exactly_?" Fuckin' backwoods podunk cops. Can't let a speeder or a slight lane drift go.

"Past the exit for the mall, and I can see mile marker 38. Fuck, he's coming up."

Ezra clenched his teeth and laid a little heavier on the gas. The engine roared in response, trying to keep up to the demand. A nervous kid was bad enough, but a nervous kid with a gun was worse.

"Don't do anything stupid, I'll be there in three minutes." _God, please don't let this kid shoot the cop_.

Ezra hung up his phone, stuck it back into his pocket and focused his thoughts on driving, paying extra attention to the mile markers. He was less than two minutes away.

7777777

Fred Anderson was a veteran of the police force for 17 years. Truck stops were pretty much the most exciting thing he ever had to deal with in this small town. That's why he liked living out here; such a sense of inherent safety and community. Say what you wanted about the country, but Fred doubted that any of his counterparts in the city could say they felt the same.

So yeah, the box truck had been a bit zippy, and yes, he could have let it go, but then he saw that one of the tail lights was broken, and figured that two strikes deserved a citation. If it had been one or the other, then fine, but not both. The truck pulled over without incident, and Fred stopped the cruiser ten feet behind the truck's rear bumper. He reached over and grabbed his hat from the passenger seat and got out of the car, leaving the blue lights and the overly-bright flood lights on, illuminating the truck's cargo door. He slipped his hat onto his head as he walked around the cruiser's driver's door.

Fred glanced at the encroaching dark on either side of the road, seeping out from the trees in shadowy tendrils and up the small incline, trying to reach the pavement. He looked behind him quickly as he started to come up to the driver's side, wary of any traffic that may be coming. He had seen too many videos of troopers getting nailed by irreverent drivers while standing next to stopped vehicles. Thankfully, no cars were coming in either direction. And, thankfully, this wasn't a particularly busy stretch of road.

His walk was slow and deliberate, and he would openly admit that he took _some_ pleasure in knowing that his slow approach went a long way to making the driver penitent. But he also knew that he wasn't invincible, and never took anything for granted.

As he stopped next to the driver's side window, he found the occupant had rolled it down.

"Problem, officer?" the man asked.

Fred was a little surprised by the driver's appearance. He was young; maybe 20 or so, and wore a black hooded sweatshirt that was free of visible rips or tears. Fred was figuring that the truck would be some sort of work vehicle – a plumber or electrician – but he noticed the kid's hands on the steering wheel as being well taken care of. Not a tradesman's hands or typical tradesman's clothes.

"License and registration."

"Was I speeding?" the kid asked.

Fred nodded his head, as he was looking down at the offered license. "Going a little fast, yeah. You also have a taillight out," He gestured towards the back of the truck while still holding the man's license.

"Oh," the kid said through a sigh. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." He smiled.

"Hmmm. Registration?"

The kid leaned over and started searching through the glove box and under the center console and visors, his obvious unease growing. "Uhh," the kid mumbled.

"Is this your truck, son?"

The driver was still shuffling through random papers and junk as he spoke. "It's, uh, my boss's."

Fred nodded slowly. "Right. Can you step out of the vehicle and walk to the back of it please?"

The shuffling stopped and confused eyes met Fred's. "Why?"

Fred's gaze didn't waver under the scrutiny. "Please, sir. Step out of the vehicle." He opened the door for the driver.

The driver discarded the pile of random paperwork on the deep dashboard and slid out of the truck as ordered. He glared at the cop as he turned towards the back of the vehicle and walked ahead of Anderson.

Fred released the holster snap keeping his weapon secure as the hairs on his neck started to prickle. The road was eerily empty of other motorists in both directions, and the meager light had finally dissipated and the area had been enveloped by the dark. Fred had a bad feeling. As he rounded the back of the truck on the driver's heels and into the flood of light, the driver turned to face him, bringing the gun he had hidden in his clothes up to bear. Fred had his gun up instantly, instinctively. He didn't know who fired first, but as the first shots rang out, Fred tried to get behind the cruiser for protection, and the kid started to slide around the passenger side of the truck, aiming over his retreating shoulder and firing as he beat a hasty retreat.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Fred reached the cruiser door he had left open reached for the radio and started yelling into it, "Officer needs assistance! Shots fired! I repeat, officer needs—"

And then blackness.

7777777

Ezra saw the lights way up ahead and knew it was Jon. In the now dark, he shut off his headlights and coasted slowly up about twenty feet behind the cruiser. He hoped that the lack of light and motorists, as well as the car's dark color would keep it from being noticed. Plus, the officer would be more intent on the traffic stop. Even so, he pulled the car as far over to the side of the road and down into the trees as possible. Thankfully, the land in this stretch of road was moderately flat and easily maneuverable.

Ezra shut off the interior light sensor, then opened the door as silently as possible. As he got out of the car he took his weapon out of its holster and walked around the door, leaving it open. He started walking toward the situation playing out ahead of him. Jon was just getting out of the truck, and the officer was holding the door for him. Ezra looked behind him on the deserted strip of road, and silently thanked Lady Luck for the lack of light. He made it to the trunk of the cruiser, hunching over to look through the back window and windshield, laying his free hand on the trunk lid.

Even through the two glass panes, he saw the look on Jon's face; it was a look of defiance and fear, but it also had '_I'm about to do something dumb and desperate_' written all over it. He saw the kid slide his hand under his sweatshirt and palm the .38 he had in the waistband of his jeans. Ezra started to stand up straight, and whispered angrily, "Shit."

Jon spun and brought his gun up, which was met with the more experienced weapon of the officer. Jon fired first and missed, while the officer kept his bead on Jon while firing multiple rounds as he retreated to his cruiser.

Ezra ducked as the officer made his way back, but not before he saw Jon firing indiscriminately over his shoulder and behind him as he retreated to the passenger side of the truck.

The officer was ducked in to the 'V' that the open door and the body of the cruiser made, radioing frantically for assistance.

Ezra did the only thing he could do to save the situation. He rushed the officer and slammed his gun into the back of the stooped officer's head, striking before he had a chance to be seen. The officer was jerked forward with the initial blow, then fell backwards to land face up and arms splayed. Ezra bent down and checked him for any bullet holes. The poor bastard didn't even have a chance to think about what hit him; he was out cold. And, thankfully, lacking any injuries aside from the knock to the head.

Good thing Jon had shitty aim.

Ezra stood quickly and came around the front of the cruiser. "Jon!" he yelled. "Where the fuck are you, you little shit?" he muttered to himself, then yelled again "Jon!"

Jon came out of the shadows on the passenger side of the truck, and met the business end of Ezra's gun before he was recognized. Ezra lowered his gun.

"You kill him?"

"What in holy fuck were you thinking?!" Ezra yelled, then noticed that Jon was holding his left arm as blood seeped through the fabric of his dark sweatshirt, turning the fabric shiny in the flood lights of the cruiser.

"Eddie, I—" he started, but wasn't able to finish. He suddenly had a face full of angry southerner. "Jesus Eddie, back the fuck off!"

"You stupid fucking prick!" he yelled at the same time Jon was snapping at him to back off. He then flung the injured Jon towards the passenger side of the truck. "Shut up and get in the fucking truck!"

The kid complied without further protest. Ezra turned towards the cruiser, knowing that the on board dash cam would have captured the whole incident. He looked towards it, knowing that his face would be seen clearly, in a gesture, he hoped, of reassurance to the audience that he _knew_ was going to see that tape, and soon.

He got in the truck and started it up and tore out of there, the tires slipping on the loose soil of the roadway's shoulder and kicking up a cloud behind them. Next to him, Jon panted through the pain in his arm as he came down from the adrenaline high. Ezra shook his head at him. "What were you thinking?" he shouted. "You were planning on taking on a cop? Do you know what kind of shit that would have caused? Hell, still could cause?" Then, more calmly, "You're telling Sheppard about this little fuck up, not me."

"I—"

"They got you on camera in a firefight with a uniformed officer! Stupid!" he added as an afterthought, then smacked the steering wheel once, dispelling some of his anger.

Jon looked at him when he seemed to calm. "Are you sure?"

Angry and wild green eyes turned and pinned the younger man to his seat. "Of course I'm fuckin' sure! I destroyed it," he lied, "but I have no idea how those things work. I think they instantly upload now." Ezra ran his hand through his hair, blowing out his breath as he did, coming down off his own adrenaline high. Next to him, Jon remained silent.

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Larabee was going to kill him.

_What a shit show_.

7777777

Chris was looking through the file the DEA had sent over by courier. In a petulant display of passive aggression, they made sure it arrived at the ATF offices after the close of the day. But Chris had been waiting for it, and wasn't leaving until he got a look at what it contained.

There were pictures of Ezra looking to be dealing drugs, and others of him hanging out with Sheppard and his people. Standish looked very ingrained in Sheppard's group; there were even a couple of pictures with Standish and Sheppard laughing together and Sheppard with his arm around the southerner's shoulders in a brotherly way.

To Chris, it looked like it was supposed to. Standish was working his way into the man's good graces, and he wasn't doing anything unexpected. Hell, the communication log that Vin was keeping had mentioned that Standish had been asked to deal, among other things. And of course he looked comfortable in the role; Ezra was more that great at his job.

Larabee dropped the stack of pictures to his desk and sat back, sighing.

The DEA could pound sand. They had nothing.

7777777

After a silent trip, Ezra pulled up to the garage door and honked the horn twice. As it opened before them, he pulled into the garage and killed the engine. He slid out of the driver's seat and shut the door firmly behind him.

Sheppard walked out of his office towards the newly arrived truck. A beat up trucker hat covered his gray hair, but his smile was genuine as he approached. "My man," he said in greeting to Ezra. He reached out and gave Ezra a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Where's Jon?" he asked. Ezra nodded towards the truck cab, as Jon came around the front of the truck, still holding his arm. The kid looked like a whipped puppy.

"What happened?" Sheppard asked. His smile faded away. "Why are you both in the truck?"

"I had to dump the car," Standish said.

"Why? What happened?"

Ezra looked over at Jon expectantly.

"We… I mean I… ran into a problem."

"What kind of problem?" Sheppard asked slowly, a hard edge to his voice.

"I got pulled over…"

"WHAT?" Sheppard roared. Jon froze like a deer in headlights.

Ezra picked up the story. "Busted taillight. Don't worry, I took care of it." He gestured to the truck behind him. "We should unload this and then get rid of it. It's not worth the risk that they have the make and plates. Probably already have a BOLO out on it."

Sheppard was glaring at Jon. He walked right up to the young man and removed his hat, running his hand over his mussed up hair. He leaned in, his face only about an inch or two from Jon's face and sneered, "Do you know how big of a fuck up this is?"

The kid floundered a little, opening and closing his mouth like a fish gasping for air, trying to decide what would be the right thing to say.

"No," Sheppard continued, "I mean can you even fathom what could have happened? We could all be hauled off to the pen and left there to rot." He smacked Jon with his hat for emphasis, hitting the injured arm.

Seeing how angry Sheppard was and hearing Jon's hiss of pain, Standish tried to defuse the situation. He came closer to the kid, still behind and slightly off the kid's left shoulder as he spoke. One hand stayed on his hip and the other was held out to the side in a gesture of concession. "Shep, it wasn't totally his fault. We didn't know the taillight was busted."

Sheppard leaned back, out of Jon's face and smiled. Then, as he backed up, he started to laugh maliciously. Jon started to grin reflexively, looking to a few of the faces now staring at him, and let out a nervous chuckle.

Standish's eyes darted back and forth between Sheppard and Jon, and also looked at the few other people in the shop at that time. They weren't laughing. Ezra felt cold sweat trickle in between his shoulder blades.

"Jon," Sheppard started, as he calmed his mirth. He placed his cap back on his head. "I'm sorry my boy, but you're just not up to running with the big boys."

"I'm sorry Mr. She—"

It's a weird sound. If you've never heard it, it's hard to explain. It's almost like a pop, but still different. The silencer makes a bit of a whoosh at the same time, almost like someone trying to clear a hair off their tongue without using their hand, but it doesn't completely arrest the sound. Then there's a sickening sploosh-type of sound as the bullet travels through skin, bone and brain, annihilating everything in its path. All these sounds happen in the exact same second.

Jon never got to finish his apology before his brain was blown out the back of his head by Sheppard's silenced handgun. Blood and matter from the wound sprayed onto the side of the truck, adding to the graffiti already there in a macabre mural.

Ezra hadn't reacted to Shep's swift movement nor the sudden sound of the weapon discharging. The high velocity slug had finished its path before Ezra even realized it had been fired. His eyes reflexively shut and he flinched when debris landed on his face, like blinking in a rain shower. Bits of what he knew were blood and brains and bone had landed on his face, his jacket, and in his hair. Jon's lifeless body fell to the ground in a heap.

Sheppard turned to one of his other guys in the shop. "Unload the truck and get rid of it." He tossed the gun onto the table behind him. Nodding towards the crumpled body on the floor, he added, "That too. Dump them in the lake." He looked back at Ezra, who had yet to move.

Standish had managed to open his eyes and straighten himself. His gaze locked on Jon's body.

"Eddie," Shep said.

It took Ezra a second to realize he was being spoken to. He looked up to Sheppard. "Yeah?"

He waved the agent towards him, expecting Ezra to come stand next to him. Ezra did so robotically, stealing one last glance at the boy's body on the floor as he stepped around it. A dark crimson puddle had started to bloom on the floor and spread like an oil slick.

_Jesus, he was just a boy_.

As the two men walked back towards the office, Sheppard scrutinized Eddie's face, trying to puzzle together what the problem was. "Cheer up, Eddie. This deal is going to make us all very wealthy, and will set up a new pipeline for our shipments."

Ezra tried to plaster a smile on his face, but he knew it wasn't very convincing. "Yeah."

Shep stopped their forward movement with an outstretched hand and turned Ezra to face him. "Hey, you with me?"

Ezra shook his head slightly. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting…" he gestured back towards the truck.

"Hell, you didn't even like him anyways." He looked Ezra up and down, and seemed to realize just now that the man had blood on his face and clothes. "Eddie, go and take a shower in the locker room. Leave me your jacket; I have a guy that can get it clean. I'll get you a shirt to change into; I'll get rid of that shirt for you."

Ezra was still in a daze as he slid out of the leather jacket, followed by his shoulder holster and weapon, and finally his button-down shirt and t-shirt, handing everything to Benjamin Sheppard. Benjamin Sheppard, who had just murdered a boy right in front of his eyes. Benjamin Sheppard, who just brought this game to a whole new level.

7777777

Ezra made use of the locker room shower, allowing the hot water to cascade over his shoulders and down his back. The runoff at his feet had run pink at first, but had since become clear. The last bits of young Jon washed down the drain, carried out on a tide of soap and suds. Ezra leaned his head and forearms against one of the tiled walls, letting the hot water beat on his back.

_How could I stand there and let that happen? _

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, catching the small droplets of water dripping down his face, sending them splattering to the wall. He had to get himself under control.

_Snap out of it, Standish. You've seen people die before. _

But this kid didn't just die. He was _murdered_.

He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it of these thoughts. Too much. It was all _too much_.

Taking one last deep breath and holding it, he turned toward the showerhead and let the water beat on his face. He lowered his head as he exhaled, water pouring over his head plastering his hair down to his skull before peaking at his nose and chin and cascading in an arc to the floor and down the drain. His skull. Half of Jon's skull was gone… blown into a million little bone fragments that would never be reunited with the rest of his body, wherever his body ended up.

He ran his hand up his face and into his hair and along the back of his head. His _in-tact_ head.

_God, I helped kill him_.

Bringing his hand around suddenly, he slapped the tiled wall with enough force to make his hand sting.

_He would have killed him anyway. It had nothing to do with you._

But Shep's words echoed in his head… "_You didn't even like him anyways_…"

He slapped the wall again, harder this time, and then shut off the water. No amount of water would wash away his sins. No amount of washing would make him feel clean again.

7777777

Tanner sat on his couch, watching the last bit of news before he headed to bed. He had stayed late with Chris to get a look at the stuff the DEA had sent over, and had agreed that they didn't have shit. Of course, that didn't alleviate his fears that they would try to make something out of that nothing; put some sort of slant on it to suit their needs. He shook his head and shut off the TV. He wasn't really watching it anyways.

As he was shutting off his lights and heading to the bedroom, his phone rang. He quickened his pace to reach the phone in time to take the call. He made it into his bedroom by the third ring and took the phone off the charger to answer it before it could go to voicemail, not looking at the caller ID.

"Tanner."

"_Vin_…"

He was quiet for a minute, trying to figure out the whispery voice. He pulled the phone away from his ear and confirmed the identity of the caller from display. "Ezra?"

There was no answer at first, and Tanner thought he may have been disconnected, or even butt-dialed.

An exhaled breath. "_Jesus Vin… they killed him_."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Vin knew his own voice sounded panicky. "Ezra, who did they kill?" He grabbed the small notepad and pencil sitting on his bedside table and started writing.

"_Just… blew his fuckin' brains out right in front of me. I didn't do a thing_…"

Vin sat on the edge of his bed and listened to the pain in his friend's voice. "Ez, talk to me. Who did they kill?"

Another pause. "_He was just a boy. A baby. God, Vin, he didn't even see it coming_."

Tanner closed his eyes and dropped his head back as realization dawned on him. '_Errand with the punk'_. That kid, Jon, was dead.

"Jesus, Ezra. Are you all right?"

A deep breath in, a small hitch at the end of it, and a slow expulsion of air through the mouth.

"_I'm fine_."

"Bullshit." Vin heard the snort of amusement on the other end and could imagine the small smile on Ezra's face.

One more deep breath. "_We picked up a shipment tonight. A drop job_." A pause. "_There was an incident on the highway_."

"What kind of incident?"

"_Shots_ _were fired. I came up to it late. It's all gonna be on the dash cam. Tell the officer… I'm sorry_."

"Sorry for what? Ezra, what happened?" Vin's voice was tense.

"_I have to go_."

And the line went dead. Vin stared at the phone for a moment, then returned it to the charger. He looked down at the scribblings that he wrote during the call. He immediately rewrote them out into detailed notes while it was fresh in his mind, including how Ezra sounded and what was said. Tomorrow, he would have to find that footage of whatever 'incident' Ezra was talking about.

He reread his notes and sighed. _I don't think this can wait till morning_.

He picked up his phone again and dialed.

"_Larabee_."

"Chris, I think we have a problem."

7777777


	2. Chapter 2

At 3:27 AM Vin, Chris, Buck and JD were in the office in varying states of wakefulness. Nathan and Josiah were on their way but had yet to arrive. Regardless, nothing could be done until they had whatever footage Ezra had told Vin about, and for that they needed JD.

To say that JD was not a morning person was an understatement. Rousing him at such an early hour had been a chore. Since their arrival, Buck had been feeding the kid caffeine to try to get him to perk up. JD wasn't exactly bright eyed and bushy tailed, but he was awake and sitting at his desk, his heavy head resting on his propped up fist.

As Vin explained what Ezra had said, JD snapped awake and immediately started working. It took him about 40 minutes to locate the footage and make a copy, then retreat out of the system he'd hacked, covering his tracks as he went.

Josiah and Nathan had arrived while JD was engrossed in his computer work. The two agents were both a little disheveled, but they were alert and attentive. They, like the others, grabbed cups of coffee from the break room and settled in to wait.

At 4:19 AM, six members of Team 7 sat at the conference room table, the door to the room closed securely to ensure privacy. Even this early in the morning, you couldn't be too careful. JD patched the footage on his laptop into the flat-screen at the head of the room.

The footage, somewhat scratchy and lo-definition, began with Officer Fred Anderson announcing that he was pulling over a truck for speeding and a broken taillight. He radioed the remote location as best he could, right down to the mile marker.

The dispatcher's static-filled acknowledgment came as the officer pulled his cruiser to a complete stop.

Anderson got out of the car and sauntered towards the truck. Normally, the team would have had some snarky remarks about the officer's 'mosey', but not today – instead they were completely silent, their eyes riveted to the screen. The officer stopped next to the driver's window and stood there, talking to the driver. Although there was no audio of his dialog, every Law Enforcement Officer knew how the traffic stop would work – _should_ work.

After a minute, the officer opened the door for the driver to exit. The subject complied, and headed for the back of the truck. The team could all see that Anderson had drawn his weapon and held it down beside him.

The tension in the room ratcheted up a bit when they saw the driver reach under his sweatshirt and pull a handgun from the front of his pants.

"Oh shit," Nathan hissed out.

The ensuing firefight was short; less than ten seconds before they heard Anderson again calling on the radio for assistance. As the officer frantically repeated his request over the radio, it was cut short of completion by a grunt of pain. Not five second later, the third man entered the scene from the driver's side of the cruiser. He also held a handgun lowered by his side.

"Christ, that's Ezra," JD said.

Although all the men seated at the table knew that Ezra was going to show up on the video, his arrival on the screen was unsettling. They all watched more closely, noticing that his movements were different and his mannerisms were off. He wore jeans and a short leather jacket, and his hair was too long and shaggy. This was the first time since this undercover assignment started that the rest of the team saw how "Eddie" actually looked as a real person and not one of Ezra's dossiers.

Standish was clearly shouting, obviously for the other man. When the driver came around the back of the truck, they both drew on each other. As the guns were lowered, Standish grabbed hold of the driver's sweatshirt and shouted something into his face, then threw the driver towards the passenger side of the truck. As the southerner walked around to the driver's side, he looked directly at the camera he knew was on the dashboard of the cruiser.

The truck took off into the night, leaving gravel and dust in its wake.

JD cued the footage forward, showing that not even two minutes later, a second cruiser was on scene. The footage ended.

All six men sat back in their chairs. A contemplative silence descended.

JD was the first to speak. "I saw a copy of the preliminary report. Anderson is ok – he has a concussion. He was hit hard."

"Ez had to be sure that Anderson wasn't gonna get up and try to fight," Vin said quietly. "Else the guy woulda gotten killed."

They were silent for another moment; the implications setting in.

"That's a shit decision to have to make," Buck said sadly.

"He hit the guy," said Nathan. When they all looked at him, he clarified. "Anderson. He hit the driver, in the arm I think."

"We might get lucky and get a hit with local hospitals," Josiah suggested.

"I doubt it," Vin added. "Ezra kept saying '_they killed him'_, and I think it was that guy," Vin pointed to the now blank screen.

After a moment of silence, Josiah spoke up and asked the question they were all thinking. "Do we pull him out?"

Glances shot to Chris, who slowly shook his head once. "If we do, the DEA are going to crucify him, especially if this case falls apart."

"If we leave him in," JD said, looking quizzically down at his folded hands on the table, "how can he stay safe?" He looked up to Chris. "Local PD is gonna plaster his face all over the place for attacking a cop. Christ, they probably already have. And if we tell them who he is…"

"His cover's blown, and we're back to the DEA crucifying him," Buck said, leaning back in his chair, running his hands over his face.

"Not to mention IA," Nathan added solemnly. "They'll rip him apart."

Chris leaned back in his chair and looked at his watch. "Travis will be here in less than an hour. I'm gonna have to take it to him, see if he can smooth things out with the DEA."

"And then what?" Buck asked.

Chris looked at Vin. "We're gonna need to talk to Ezra, face to face. And we're gonna have to do it discreetly."

Vin nodded.

"JD," Chris said. He jutted his chin towards the now dark screen. "Play it again. I want to know every grain of this film when I talk to Travis."

JD cued the footage again.

7777777

Travis's shoes sounded out a staccato rhythm as he walked down the hallway towards his office. Always an early riser, a 6:00 AM workday start wasn't unheard of for him. What was unusual was the message on his phone from Chris Larabee asking what time he would be in, because there was a problem. The cryptic message came through at roughly 5AM, and Travis was up.

Approaching the doors to his outer office, he found Larabee waiting for him. The man looked as though he had been up all night – his stance tired and leaning against the wall. He looked up as Travis approached and stood up straight. The blond's eyes betrayed his exhaustion and stress.

"That bad, huh?"

Chris just nodded.

Travis unlocked the outer office door and held it open for his agent to follow him into the waiting area while he unlocked his own office door. Chris followed him silently.

When the inner office door closed securely behind his agent, Travis turned and leaned back on the edge of his large cherry desk, and simply said, "Tell me."

Chris sighed audibly, then spoke. "We have a problem. Vin got a call from Ezra last night, said they had picked up a shipment, but there was an incident during transit. He told Vin it would be on the cruiser's dash cam."

"What happened?" the Judge asked in a voice that was calmer than he actually was.

"Local police got involved, and there were shots fired."

"Jesus."

"Ezra had to incapacitate the officer to defuse the situation."

Travis's eyes went wide. "Please tell me he didn't shoot him!"

"No, no," Chris replied quickly. "But he did hit him hard enough to knock him out and give him a concussion. Then he and the driver left."

"Why didn't the officer see Standish?"

"He came up from behind. He wasn't in the truck to start."

"So there was another vehicle?"

Chris nodded. "Local PD had it towed; it was about twenty feet behind the cruiser and off the shoulder."

Travis blew his breath out, then went around his desk and sat. He indicated for Chris to do the same in one of the facing leather chairs.

Travis took another deep breath and blew it out. "Wow. What a mess."

"About covers it, sir."

"And Standish is fine? His cover's still intact?"

"For the time being." When Travis's face conveyed his confusion, Chris elaborated. "If we pull him, DEA will crucify him if the case falls apart. At the same time, if we leave him in, cops are going to be on the lookout for him for assaulting the officer. If we tell them who he is, then his cover is compromised, and we're back to the DEA crucifying him."

Travis considered Chris's statement for a moment. "I'll make some phone calls." Chris nodded. Travis continued, "This could get even messier."

"I have no doubt about that."

Travis sat forward and reached for his phone. He gestured at the door, signifying Chris should leave. "I'll let you know as soon as I have anything."

"Thanks, Judge," Chris said, then turned and left the office, shutting the door as he went.

"Don't thank me yet," Travis said quietly to the empty office.

7777777

"Eddie! Come here for a minute," Sheppard called from across the shop.

Ezra turned and headed for the office. During daylight hours, the place was just like any other business. Most of these employees had no idea what transpired after-hours. In his casual walk towards his beckoning boss, Ezra found himself glancing at the spot where Jon had died the night before. There wasn't so much as a stain on the floor. The boy had died _right there_, and there was no evidence of it anywhere, like it never happened. Daytime employees happily chattered about the weather or last night's news, oblivious to the violence that took place here not 15 hours before. The kid was nothing to them, not even a curious stain on the floor. He avoided walking on the spot where he had last seen the young man's body. He shook his head slightly trying to clear it of the thought of a boy in a watery grave.

Plastering a more pleasant look on his face, he hopped up the two steps to the open office door and leaned in on the door frame. "What's up, Shep?"

Sheppard turned towards Ezra, putting the bundle of shipping invoices he was flipping through down on his desk. "Come in," he gestured to the other chair in the office. "Shut the door."

Ezra did as asked and took a seat in the indicated chair. "Anything wrong?"

"Eddie," Sheppard began, seeming to have a problem spitting out his words. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "I wanted to apologize for last night…"

Standish waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, it just surprised me."

"No, I know you were more than bothered by it. Such things are always unpleasant. But I want to explain it to you; I feel I owe you that."

Ezra waited for him to continue.

"See, Jon has been a fuck up for a long time. I caught him stealing from me a couple of months ago, and I decided that since he was young and stupid, like we all once were, I would give him another chance. While he had some annoying slip-ups along the way, he seemed to do better and really be trying. But even with his second chance, last night happened."

Standish just nodded.

"He could have gotten someone seriously hurt with that stunt; it was reckless. Thankfully, it was just Jon that got hurt."

"How do you know about last night?" Standish asked, a feeling of fear floating about in his stomach.

"I hear things. I know Jon decided to try to take out that cop, and you came along at the right minute to keep the situation from getting worse."

"Still wasn't very _good_." Ezra started to wonder who it was that Sheppard might hear things from. A cop? A civilian employee within the police department? Maybe a reporter?

Sheppard smiled in response. "Still…" He then slapped both of his hands on his thighs and announced in a far more chipper voice, "Ok. That's not the only reason I called you in here."

Ezra watched in confusion as Sheppard went into his locked file cabinet in the back of the office. His set of keys jingled in his hand while he found the right one, then he unlocked the drawer and pulled out a ledger. Standish already knew what it was, and he had already seen its contents; he had copied it one night weeks ago, unbeknownst to its owner. That copy was already in Larabee's hands.

It was Sheppard's second set of books. The ones where he kept a record of all his illegal gains: deliveries, pickups, payouts to his friends and employees involved. Habits of an old businessman were hard to break.

"What's that?" Ezra asked in feigned interest.

"This," he said as he opened it, "is the record of money in and money out for our after-hours business."

"You should probably keep something like that in a safe."

Sheppard waved his hands in dismissal. "No need. That cabinet is always locked, and I have the only key. No one knows this exists; no one would have reason to look for such a thing." He looked at Ezra with hard eyes. "I don't keep anyone around me I can't trust."

Ezra's brows furrowed in confusion. "Why are you showing me this?"

The man put on a sincere smile. "Because I trust you. And I want you to take over this location."

Ezra was genuinely shocked, and knew his expression reflected it. "Wait, what?"

"I have been thinking lately," he started, getting up out of his seat and looking out one of the windows to observe his employees working, oblivious. "I figured diversity is key. And I shouldn't have all my eggs in one basket," he finished with a laugh, then turned back to face Ezra.

Standish remained sitting, trying to take in what he had just been told. "Where are you going to have another setup?"

"Haven't decided yet. I hear Pennsylvania is nice." He laughed at his own joke.

Ezra snorted in feigned amusement.

"I think it would open up options to distributors and customers in both regions, especially if we ship from one of our locations to another; we wouldn't need to deal with anyone outside of our own company, which makes it more secure."

Still genuinely confused, Standish asked, "Why me?"

Sheppard sat back down in his chair and took a deep breath before he spoke. "You remind me of someone I used to know; a cousin. I think it's the eyes," he said as he gestured lazily at Ezra. "He was a good kid. He was killed in a car accident a few months shy of his 24th birthday. He always was pretty clever…" His voice drifted in fond remembrance. He took a short breath and huffed it out. "Well, it's like this. My family doesn't know about our after-hours doings, and I would like to keep it that way. I don't have any kids to take over this business, so I need a partner. I like you. You're good people."

"Thanks," he said, smiling a smile he didn't mean.

"No, it's true. I've watched how you've handled situations that have come up, and I've seen how you can take command of people. I know you're good with numbers and figures, you think things through and are always on your toes. I know you're good under pressure, like last night."

"Who told you about last night?" he asked again as nonchalantly as he could. It would be good to know how that flow of information went.

Sheppard shrugged noncommittally. "I can put it together pretty well. Jon fucked up, and you fixed the situation and pulled it through to the end, saving the whole thing."

"I think you give me too much credit."

"Don't be so modest. It isn't a Miss America title," he added with an amused smile.

Ezra shrugged, like he was considering Sheppard's proposition.

"How about a trial run? You don't like it, you go back to doing what you're doing now."

Ezra's eyes widened in genuine surprise. It was perfect; he would be in the heart of the operation. He would learn names of suppliers, as well as customers. Suppliers, distributors, customers; soup to nuts. And it was being handed to him, like a fuckin' birthday present.

"Come on…" Sheppard wheedled, a hopeful smile on his face.

Ezra smiled, then nodded once. "On a trial basis, for now."

Sheppard stood up and extended his hand. Standish stood and shook it. Sheppard then pulled him into an embrace and patted his back. Standish returned the gesture without hesitation.

"You're gonna do great; you'll love it!" Sheppard sat back down and delved into the books in front of him, showing Standish everything.

_Not as much as I'm gonna love nailing your ass to the wall_.

7777777

Travis walked with a purpose into Team Seven's office area, but as he came through the door, he couldn't help but stop and stare at the five agents at their desks. The shenanigans and camaraderie that were associated with the team were absent.

The Judge's sudden halt in his tracks attracted the attention of Buck Wilmington, sitting at his desk and seriously contemplating the half-full coffee cup in front of him.

"Judge?" he looked up in askance, and all four of his teammates' attention turned to their visitor. "Somethin' wrong?"

Chris appeared in his doorway and turned expectant eyes towards his boss.

"Nothing is wrong, per se, gentlemen, but I do have some information."

Five agents all seemed to simultaneously fire off questions, while their leader stayed silent, leaning against the door jamb to his office.

"Gentlemen please!" Travis announced loudly, holding his hands in a _settle down_ motion. "It will be far easier if I talk and you listen."

The men settled back into their seats, all of them turning in their seats to have a clear view of Travis.

"My first call was to the Director of the DEA, who was less than pleased at being woken up so early. I explained the situation to him, and after a somewhat lengthy conversation, he agreed to call off his dogs."

"Well, that's good news, right?" JD asked.

Josiah noted the body language of the man in front of them. "There's something else, isn't there?"

Expectant, questioning eyes waited for the catch.

The judge's mouth tightened in a straight line, obviously not happy with the caveat the DEA had insisted on. "The Director asked, and I agreed, that a DEA agent be assigned to work on this case with you."

Grumbling and other sounds of disagreement answered him.

"That sucks," Tanner drawled from his desk.

"Gums up the works, having to adjust to a new man," Buck said.

"Boys," Chris spoke for the first time.

"He will be here as a courtesy only," the Judge added. "The Director agreed to that. And that he would act as a liaison between our two offices. He won't be an acting agent on the case; he's just there to protect the DEA's interest in this situation."

"What else?" Chris asked, still leaning against his door frame.

Travis took a breath and then began. "My second call was to the Oak Falls Police Chief. After getting the runaround in their phone system for a couple of minutes, I got the Chief. I explained to her that the man they were putting out BOLOs for was wanted in connection to an active ATF case. As a professional courtesy, I requested her assistance in keeping her men in check; that it was imperative that the ATF catch this man in the criminal act and not after, or else he would walk."

"Clever," Nathan said with approval from his desk.

"She said she would instruct everyone explicitly and clearly as to the importance of this, which is the best we can hope for. So no, the police will not be 'gunning' for him."

"That's a relief," JD added.

"Yes, but if he does commit some other transgression," Josiah intoned, "there may be some boys in blue willing to exact some revenge for their injured comrade. They've already passed out his picture from the video."

"Damn," Tanner said quietly.

"It's a risk that we'll have to take," Chris announced, pushing off the door frame and rubbing his tired eyes. "The only way to ensure his complete safety would be to blow his cover."

"Oak Falls Police Department expecting us?" Tanner asked.

"I told them to expect you there today. The DEA agent will meet you at the Oak Falls Police Station this afternoon."

"Alright boys, start packing up whatever you need," Chris said as he walked towards the Judge. He extended his hand to the older man, who clasped it without hesitation. "Thank you for this, Orin."

Travis nodded tightly. "I hope it's enough."

Chris half-shrugged. "Me too."

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	3. Chapter 3

The trip to Oak Falls had taken almost an hour due to traffic congestion in Denver and Boulder. Once on the other side of Boulder though, it was as though civilization took a step back about thirty years or so. There were modest but adequate houses cheerily painted and well-maintained with large, comfortable yards; nothing like the modern cookie-cutter developments that seemed to spring up everywhere. _Life out here would definitely be a refreshing change of pace from the city_, Tanner thought as he watched the scenery roll by.

Chris, Vin and Nathan rode in the Ram and had the lead, while the others followed in Josiah's suburban.

Halfway from Denver to Boulder, Vin had sent a message to Ezra via text. Without knowing who might be around Ezra when he got these messages, the two had agreed on an easy code.

The message sent was: _Hey cuz! Gonna be in Boulder this afternoon dropping off. You around for a bite?_

They were almost through the snarl of traffic in Boulder when the message was returned with: _Haven't seen you in forever. How long you here? I know a great place I can meet you there_.

"Bout time," Nathan said humorously from the back seat.

Vin shook his head and smiled. He sent back: _Name the place. I trust your choice_.

Shortly after, he was answered with: _1:30? Lunch rush should be clear. Phil's Diner on Main has the best rubens. Looking forward to the company._

Vin smiled as he quickly sent back:_ It's a date. See ya then_.

"So?" Chris asked when it seemed that the sharpshooter was going to keep everything to himself.

"1:30 at a diner in Boulder," Vin answered flatly.

"What did all that other stuff mean?" Nathan asked.

Vin stared out the window as the world passed. "Ezra had me set up as his cousin from out of town; a teamster. That way, it wouldn't be so odd for someone to just show up. Him picking the place means that there's no problem in getting there, 'Looking forward to the company' means he's pretty sure he won't be alone, and so we shouldn't let our guard down when we're there."

"And rubens?" Chris asked.

Vin half chuckled in amusement. "Sometimes a sandwich is just a sandwich. The man likes his rubens."

Nathan snorted from the back seat.

"Well… alright then," Chris said and shrugged.

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The Oak Falls police station was on the main road through town. It was a decent, if small sized building, maybe about the size of some of the one storey old shops in Denver. There wasn't anything on either side of the building for a good 500 feet in each direction; people liked their space out here. The parking lot was small, but then so was the town's police force.

The two vehicles pulled into two adjoining spaces to the right of the building marked 'Visitor Parking'. The six men slid from the vehicles, stretching cramped muscles and working out kinks from the ride. Gathering their gear, they headed for the front of the building and the entrance.

Chris was the first to enter, taking off his sunglasses as he did. He took in the main room: a small lobby area to the right, a half wall sequestering it from the rest of the squad room; an old-school counter with a deputy stationed on the other side at a computer; past her, the rest of the squad room was open, with desks facing desks making little wooden islands in a sea of floor. On the back wall, several glass windows were tell tale signs of interrogation rooms, and off to the left, he could see metal bars through an open door: holding cells.

As the other five men followed through the doors, they all took a minute to allow their eyes to adjust to the change in light.

Buck stifled a chuckle. "Paging Barney Fife."

Chris silenced him with a look. Turning around, he walked towards the seated deputy who had been watching them with a wary eye since their arrival.

"Hi," Chris said. "We're here to see Chief Owens?"

She smiled back at him. "Ok. And you are?"

"Chris Larabee, ATF," he showed her his credentials. "This is my team," he indicated with a nod over his shoulder. "Orin Travis said you would be expecting us."

"Oh right!" she said. "Come right around," she stood and indicated the small gate at the end of the counter.

"Jeez, this reminds me of high school, getting sent to the principal's office," JD said quietly as they all made their way through the gate.

"What did _you_ get sent to the principal's office for?" Buck asked incredulously.

JD looked at him with a half smile. "Stuff."

"Right," Wilmington replied.

The deputy led them to one of the only rooms along the side of the large open area and knocked on the door to the office. Upon hearing a sound of acknowledgement, she opened the door and leaned in. "Chief, the ATF is here."

"Show them in," a voice said pleasantly from within the office.

The deputy turned and smiled at Chris, gesturing to the open door with a swish of her hand. She waited until all the men had entered and shut the door behind them.

Chief Susan Owens stood and came around her desk, offering her hand to Larabee. "I'm Chief Owens," she said, shaking his hand. "Welcome to our town."

"Thank you ma'am," Chris answered. "I'm Chris Larabee, and this is my team," he indicated each man as he spoke, "Buck Wilmington, Josiah Sanchez, JD Dunne, Vin Tanner and Nathan Jackson."

All the men smiled in greeting at her. "Very nice to meet you all. I hope you'll be comfortable here. We have you set up in the conference room," she pointed to the wall of her office, towards the interrogation rooms. "We don't have a lot of officers around right now; most are out patrolling or following up on some local business. Help yourself to coffee. Anything else you need, please don't hesitate to ask. And don't worry, your other man hasn't been here long."

"Other man?" Josiah asked.

"His name is George Henderson. He said he was meeting you all here today."

An awkward silence fell as several of the men looked at each other questioningly. "Alright ma'am," Buck smiled, breaking the silence. "We'll just go on and meet up with good ol' George and get started."

"Right this way."

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The conference room was nothing more than two collapsible tables surrounded with chairs that would be better suited for cafeteria use. A man in a dark blue suit and silver tie sat on the far side, far end, looking through file folders in front of him. When the six men came in, bidding a thank you to Chief Owens as she left, the man stood up in greeting.

"Agent George Henderson," he said, extending his hand.

Larabee shook it, clearly sizing the other man up. "Chris Larabee," he looked behind himself. "Vin Tanner, Nathan Jackson, Buck Wilmington, Josiah Sanchez and JD Dunne. ATF."

Henderson nodded at each member as they were introduced. "Nice to meet you all; wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances."

The ATF Agents claimed seats and started setting up the gear they brought.

Vin looked at the clock over the door. "Chris."

"Go," said the blond, tossing his keys to Tanner.

"Where's he going?" asked Henderson.

"Vin's Ezra's contact," Buck announced. "He's gonna go meet him."

"Should someone go with him?"

"Better if he goes alone. Too many people are eye catching," Larabee answered, as he tried to settle into the uncomfortable plastic molded chair that seemed to have a bit of a wobbling problem.

Buck looked at his leader and chuckled outright at Chris's discomfort.

"Shut up, Buck."

"I'm sorry, but this is too much like Mayfair," he said, laughter dancing in his eyes. The others couldn't help but chuckle with him.

"It's rustic," added Josiah, who looked rather uncomfortable in his own chair.

"Rust-y maybe," Nathan added.

"Guys, we're here with a purpose and by favor, don't forget that," Chris said, sending all of his men a look.

Henderson sat in his chair watching the byplay. He smiled to himself, taking note of the team dynamics.

"Gentlemen," Henderson said. "I know I am here as a courtesy, and I hope not to step on any toes. This is your operation. I am only here on the periphery. Anything I can do to help you in any way, please let me know. But I also have to ask that you don't keep me in the dark on anything. The smallest of details could make or break the case, and could jeopardize the safety of your agent."

Chris watched the man with a careful eye, scrutinizing him. After a moment, Chris seemed to come to a decision.

"Ok, Henderson. You show us yours, and we'll show you ours."

Henderson smiled and reached for his briefcase, pulling out six copies of the DEA's case file and passing one out to each man.

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Vin entered Phil's Diner right at 1:30. A small bell above the door heralded his arrival to the mostly empty restaurant. He scanned the waning lunch crowd, looking for Standish. Not seeing him, he took up a table near the back where he could watch the door, but was still enough out of the way that the two would be able to talk.

Vin picked up a menu and opened it, going through the motions of looking through it, but really keeping an eye on his surroundings.

A young waitress came by with a small stack of dirty dishes, and asked him, "Can I get you something to drink?"

Vin looked up at her, seeing one of the dishes balancing precariously near the rim of another. "Just a Coke is fine."

"Pepsi ok?"

"Yeah," he smiled.

"Ok, I'll be right back." With that, she whisked away and into the kitchen through a swinging door.

The bell jingled above the door, and Vin swung his attention that way so fast he almost made himself dizzy. He hadn't realized he had been watching the waitress saunter away.

Ezra saw him right away, and with a big smile, walked towards him. "Billy!" he announced, opening his arms wide as he got nearer the table.

Tanner smiled, relieved to see his friend after so long. He stood as Ezra approached and returned the hug in earnest, both men slapping each other on the back at its conclusion.

"Eddie, how you been? It's been too long," Vin said as he sat down.

Ezra slid into the booth across from him. "I know, I know, I have no excuse."

The waitress came back over with the soda for Vin, placing it on the table and pulling a paper-covered straw from her apron pocket. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked Ezra.

"Just coffee for me, black," he replied with a smile.

"Sure. You guys know what you want to order?"

Vin smiled. "I hear tell you guys do a mean ruben."

"That we do," she answered with a grin.

"Two of those please," Ezra ordered.

"Comin' right up," she said cheerfully, sauntering away again.

"Really, Vin," Ezra said in mock admonishment. "I doubt she's even 18."

Vin didn't realize he'd been staring again. He just smiled at his friend. "So," he said in a normal but hushed tone. "Where's your sitter?"

The left side of his mouth went up slightly as he answered. "Mr. Nevins is not fond of this 'dive', which is another reason for choosing it. They really do make a good ruben though."

"Will he be joining us at any point, you think?"

"No. He knows well enough to give me space. The only reason Josh is along for this is that Shep needed him to run some sort of errand."

The questioning look from the sharpshooter led him to elaborate.

"Not that type of errand. It's unrelated."

The answer seemed to satisfy Tanner. "So," he said again, "How are you?"

Vin knew that their table location in the diner was secluded enough that no one would be able to hear them. And for all intents and purposes, they were just two guys catching up.

Ezra leaned against the back of his seat, sighing audibly. "I can't wait to nail this son of a bitch's ass to the wall."

Vin chuckled once, quietly. "I bet."

The waitress came back with coffee and placed it in front of Standish. "Food should be up shortly."

"Thank you," Ezra said.

This time Vin didn't watch her walk away. He watched his friend, seeing the exhaustion in his eyes. "You look tired."

"I am tired," he said, lifting the mug to his mouth to take a tentative sip. The look on his face was either because the coffee was too hot, or it was awful. "Good lord," he said calmly as he put the mug down. "I think their hot water supply is hard piped directly from Hell."

Vin snorted, then took on a serious tone. "How are you, really?"

Ezra sighed softly. "I've been better."

"It was the kid, right?"

Standish nodded once tightly, a haunted and sad look in his eyes.

"It's not your fault. You know that, right?" Vin pushed.

"He was just a kid, Vin. He didn't deserve that. No one deserves that."

"Tell me what happened."

The waitress came over at that exact moment and put two plates in front of the men. Two rubens with fries. "Can I get you anything else right now?"

"No thank you darlin'," Ezra replied. "I think we're all set."

"Ok. Just holler for me if you need anything. My name's Sandy."

"Thanks, Sandy," Vin said.

As soon as the waitress was gone, Ezra spoke. "Let's eat first, Vin. I want to enjoy this meal as much as possible."

The two men ate in silence, both enjoying their sandwiches more than they thought they would. Maybe it was the company and having not seen each other in so long. Maybe it was the calm before the storm. Maybe it was just a damn good sandwich.

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The bill was paid and both men sat staring at their bottomless drinks. Sandy came by a couple times and refilled both beverages, thankful for the large tip she received when the men had cashed out.

"So I take it you saw the tape." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, we all did," Vin replied quietly.

Ezra nodded absently. "Is the officer all right?" he asked, but didn't look up, not wanting to face the possibility that he wasn't.

"He's ok. He has a concussion, and they're keeping him overnight tonight for observation, but yeah, he's ok."

"I didn't want to… hit him." He shook his head in regret. "But he and Jon… God, I'm just thankful that he didn't get shot and that _all_ he has is a concussion."

Vin nodded in understanding.

"What will happen about it?"

Vin shot him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

"Will there be a reprimand, a suspension?" He seemed almost disinterested when he asked.

"No, Ezra, nothing like that. Everyone knows you did what you had to do. Your motives aren't being called into question."

"Not yet." He smiled a knowing smile. "I have felt the backlash of rumor before, Vin. Be honest, someone has to have concluded that I've joined the other side."

"No one that matters."

He took a cleansing breath, then pushed it out. "Ok, so tell me about the DEA."

"Well," he said, sitting back. "Travis seems to have handled them for now. They got a guy working with us, as a _courtesy_."

Ezra snorted. "That's gonna be fun."

"I know, huh?" he said through a smile. "They just want to protect their case against Sheppard for the drugs."

"And make sure I don't fuck it up for them." He smiled.

"I'm sure there's that too," Vin said with humor.

Ezra's face got serious. "Vin, Shep showed me everything."

He leaned in over the table. "What do you mean, 'everything'?"

"He wants me… to take over his operation. And he wants to expand." Ezra slugged the last sip of his coffee.

"Wow."

"And the longer I stay with him, the more I spend time with him, the more I _loathe_ him." He seemed to drift off track. "Now when he smiles, I see Jon's head exploding silently. I smell blood, and I can't get the smell out of my nose. I can't help but stare at the spot on the floor where his body landed. And I can't stop thinking about him at the bottom of some lake."

"Jesus, Ezra…"

"But, in taking over my _new role_," he said with disdain, then paused, as though contemplating that exact role. Then, looking in his empty coffee cup he spoke slowly and deliberately, "I now have the names of suppliers… distributors… and customers."

Vin's face was that of pure shock. "Ezra, that's…"

"Unbelievable, right? The only thing I have left to get, the only hard evidence I lack, is the address book with all the names. Can you actually believe he keeps a fuckin' _black book_ with that shit in it?" He laughed, but it lacked mirth.

"And he's gonna give it to you," Vin said, still shocked.

"Like it's my fuckin' birthday." He paused and waved off Sandy's approach with the coffee pot. She'd been quite good to them while they were here, more than earning that $20 tip Ezra had left her.

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They ended their meeting with a hug, partly to keep up the charade, but also because they both needed it. As they turned to go their separate ways, Vin put his hand on Ezra's arm, stilling him for a moment.

"It won't be much longer," he said with a lazy smile.

And Ezra couldn't help it; he smiled back.

And then Vin was gone.

Ezra flipped his phone open, calling Josh Nevins to come and collect him, as per their agreement. Nevins was in the neighborhood anyway, and was at Ezra's location a minute later. Ezra walked around to the driver's side, ordering the other man out. Nevins did so wordlessly, knowing that Craig could do whatever he wanted.

Sheppard seemed to have an endless supply of innocuous-looking vehicles. This one was an old green Taurus with some rust along the driver's door. The door screeched when it was opened, metal rubbing metal, and the sound made Ezra cringe every time; like nails on a chalkboard. It grated on his already frayed nerves.

The tailpipe blew smoke upon starting, but then petered out in gear. Ezra's mind wandered back to his meeting with Vin, trying to hang on to the feeling of camaraderie that he'd felt, if only for that short time.

Josh tried to make small talk, but the southerner was mostly unresponsive, keeping his eye on the road. After a minute or two, he reached for the radio and turned the volume up.

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	4. Chapter 4

Vin walked into the Oak Falls Police Station and smiled at the deputy at the front counter. He continued through the gate and back towards the conference room where he had left everybody.

He opened the door without knocking and quickly went inside, shutting it securely behind him.

The six men sitting at the conference table looked up as he entered.

"Vin, something wrong?" asked Buck from where he was leaning over Henderson's shoulder looking at a file.

Vin's eyes were wide and his smile was genuine. "You're not gonna believe this."

"Believe what?" Nathan asked. "Vin, you ok?"

Vin had been buzzing the entire ride back to the police station. The magnitude of what Ezra had told him made him almost bounce in his seat as he drove.

"Is Ezra ok?" asked Chris seriously.

Vin directed his gaze at the blond. "Ezra's fine." He took a breath to settle himself. "Sheppard wants Ezra to take over this organization with the intention of expanding."

Looks on the other agents' faces ranged from incredulity to outright shock.

"He what?" Josiah was the first one to break the silence.

"Wants him to take over the business." Vin sat down at the end of the table nearest him. "Like a partner."

"A partner?" asked Henderson, somewhat suggestively.

"Not only that," Vin continued like the seventh man in the room hadn't spoken, "but the son of a bitch keeps books, like an honest to god accountant."

"But we knew that, Ezra sent us that," JD said, confused.

"The guy also keeps a little black book."

The weight of that announcement hung in the air for a moment. Chris was the first to speak. "A book of names?" There was a hopeful, yet incredulous tone to his question.

Vin ticked out on his hand as he spoke. "Suppliers, Distributors," he locked eyes with Chris. "Customers."

"Oh my God," Buck said in disbelief, straightening to his full height. "We're gonna get the whole damn ring."

JD choked out a single laugh of disbelief. Nathan slapped him amicably on the shoulder, a huge grin splitting his own face.

"As soon as he gets the black book, he'll be comin' home," Vin added. "He doesn't know where Sheppard keeps it, but he's determined to find it."

Buck let out a whoop, and shouted happily, "Son of a bitch… I fuckin' love that man!"

Even Henderson couldn't help smiling.

"Don't get too cocky yet," Chris said loudly, bringing the room down a couple of octaves. "We still need to get that book."

"And it needs to make it back here, to us," Henderson added. He received a glare from Larabee for his tone, to which the unrepentant man just shrugged.

"And if I know Ezra," Josiah said, "he's got a plan right now to do just that."

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Josh Nevins had been working for Benjamin Sheppard for more than ten years. He had started out in _Sheppard's Moving and Storage Company_, a workhorse who could move almost anything using brute strength, or at least was willing to try. Eight years after Josh had begun working for him, Sheppard had segued into the shadier side of shipping and transportation, and Josh had segued with him.

So, when Sheppard had come up to him earlier in the day, asking him to accompany Eddie on a trip into Boulder, Josh hadn't asked any questions. Craig was going to meet up with a trucker cousin who happened to be in Boulder, and Sheppard had a separate errand for Josh. Again, no questions were asked, as they would serve no purpose, and Josh had known Sheppard long enough to trust his judgment unquestioningly.

While Craig had a late lunch with his cousin, Josh had gone to collect a payment for Sheppard. He picked up $20,000 in cash, as well as a dozen handguns, converted to full automatic. Everything was in the wheelwell in the trunk of the car.

But if Craig didn't want to chat on this return trip, that was fine with him. He could drive and remain blissfully unaware. After all, Sheppard hadn't asked his new golden boy to go on this errand; he went with old faithful. Nevins smirked.

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_I can't wait to be out of this town_.

Ezra drove at a smart pace; not too fast and not too slow. He really just wanted all of this to be over. He missed his home, his friends… hell, he even missed his desk and the routine of the more mundane parts of his job.

Nevins wore some sort of queer smirk on his face, obviously content with himself about something. _Whatever. Sit there and be pleased with yourself; you're going down too_.

The green Taurus complained as it started up the next incline, sputtering slightly once but picking up and powering on.

"This car sucks," Nevins said from the passenger seat, raising his voice over Three Dog Night's "_Mama Told Me Not to Come_."

Ezra turned irritated eyes towards him. "What?" he asked, either not hearing over the radio or because his mind was elsewhere.

"Nothing, I – " Josh started, but stopped. "Nevermind." He held his hand up in dismissal.

"Speak up!" Ezra said, clearly annoyed with the passenger.

Nevins turned hard eyes on the driver. He reached and turned down the volume of the radio so that the music was barely discernable.

"You don't like me very much, do you Craig?"

Ezra furrowed his brow and shot a quick look to Nevins before turning back to the road. "I don't like anyone very much."

"You like Sheppard."

This was seriously the argument? Hurt feelings? "What's your point?" he asked bluntly.

"I used to be you," Josh replied. "Special errands, special treatment. Sheppard's right hand. And now, it's you."

Standish shook his head and shrugged, as if to say _So_?

"Don't trust him too much. Jon's not the first missing person to end up missing forever."

"Why are you telling me this?" he looked at Nevins, now facing front again.

"Let's call it… a professional courtesy. Dear."

"_Dear_?"

"DEER!" he raised his voice and pointed front at the light brown creature bounding across the road.

"Fuck," Ezra hissed as he pulled the wheel to the left to avoid a collision, then right in an attempt to correct the car's path. In doing so, he crossed completely into the oncoming lane, then in his pull right he overcorrected and the car spun around a hundred and eighty degrees, finally stopping on the left shoulder of the road, facing the wrong way back towards Boulder.

As the dust from the shoulder plumed and started to settle, the only sound from the inside of the car was the two men breathing hard. Ezra's hands were clenched tightly on the wheel in a white-knuckle grip, while Nevins's hands were both braced on the dash, his eyes closed tightly.

Standish calmed his breathing as much as possible. "Nevins?" he asked. "Josh, you alright?"

The other man slowly opened his eyes, taking stock of his surroundings. "Think so. Did you hit it?"

Ezra shook his head, "No, I don't think so." He took another deep breath, then exploded. "Fucking back-woods fucking God's damn shit country! Fuckin'… wildlife!"

"About covers it," Nevins said with a smirk.

Both men looked at each other and let out short chuckles of amusement and disbelief.

"All right, let's just get the fuck out of here," Ezra said as he put the car in gear and checked both ways as he made a three point turn on the deserted road.

"No argument here," Nevins supplied from his seat, keeping one hand on the dash.

They turned and started back for the shop. Now within Oak Falls' town limits, it should only take about another ten minutes until they would be out of the car and drinking a beer, relaying the story to Sheppard and the rest of the guys. Sheppard would be rolling on the floor laughing, Standish knew. _That man found the strangest shit funny_.

"Who does that fuckin' happen to?" Ezra asked in disbelief, breaking the silence about a minute down the road.

Nevins chuckled. "Only you, my friend."

"Jesus, I guess –" Ezra stopped in the middle of his thought. His eyes were rooted to the rear view mirror. "Shit," he said.

"What?" Nevins asked, turning to look behind them.

"Cops." Ezra automatically adjusted his speed, even though he wasn't going all that fast.

"Maybe you did hit it."

"What?" Ezra asked, confused.

"The deer. Maybe you did hit it. Maybe the fuckin' thing is lying in the middle of the road."

Ezra looked in the rear view again. The blue lights were still about 2/10ths of a mile behind them. "Maybe they're going out on another call," he said hopefully.

"Or maybe they saw you hit it?"

"Christ." He ran his right hand through his hair. "All right, stick your gun under the seat in case they _do_ pull us over. Holster too."

"I have a permit to carry concealed from the state," Nevins said, not moving to comply.

"I don't!" Which wasn't really the truth; Agent Ezra Standish did, but Eddie Craig would never have been able to get through the application process with his rap sheet.

"Eddie," Josh said, eyes very serious all of a sudden.

Ezra looked at his passenger, panicky.

"The trunk," he said, as though that explained everything.

"What about the trunk?" he asked very slowly.

"Twenty K and fully auto handguns."

Ezra let out a half chuckle, but it held no mirth whatsoever. "You didn't think to tell me this before _now_?"

He shot the driver a look that said _Clearly not_.

"Jesus _Christ_!" he yelled, then looked into the rear view. The cruiser was coming up on them fast. He had to think quickly. "Is your gun registered?"

The question seemed to throw Nevins for a minute. "My-"

"Is it?" he yelled urgently.

"Yeah. Why?"

Thank god for dumb back-woods smugglers who followed the law. Standish shucked out of his leather jacket, tossing it into the back seat and undoing his shoulder holster. He handed the whole rig, gun and all, to Nevins.

"Get that under the seat. Don't let _one bit_ of it stick out."

"Okay, but-"

"When they pull us over, they're gonna run my license, they're gonna see my warrants. They'll have to arrest me. God, I hope they don't know about last night," he rambled a bit.

"Wait, what?"

"They're gonna ask if we have weapons in the car. You will show them your license to carry concealed, and that will be fine. God willing, they'll take me and let you go. And if we're lucky, they won't insist on a search. You have to act shocked when they find my warrants, like you had no idea whatsoever, or this isn't gonna work. No matter what I say, go with it."

Nevins nodded once. "All right, Eddie."

Ezra started to slow the car as Josh stashed his gun and rig. He signaled to the right, and the cruiser pulled up behind the car.

It was a gamble, he knew. If they searched the car, they would find the illegal weapons and the whole case would be blown. Hopefully, they would be more interested in him when they found out who he was, and that he had outstanding warrants in several states.

And if that didn't work, he'd out himself as the one who roughed up the cop last night.

Both cars rolled to a stop on the shoulder.

Ezra waited patiently, both hands on the steering wheel. He had already rolled the window down, and had instructed Josh to do the same.

He watched in the rear view as two officers got out of the cruiser. _Riding in pairs after last night, most likely_.

An older man with a graying mustache walked up to the driver's side window and shone his flashlight in at Ezra.

"Problem, officer?" Ezra asked in his most unassuming voice. The second cop, far younger than the first and clean shaven, had sauntered up to the passenger side and was shining his light in at Josh.

"You know you hit a deer back there?" he asked.

"I did? I thought I avoided him. I'm sorry about that."

"Left him right in the middle of the road. On this stretch, that is a major hazard. Cars or trucks could come upon it, and with the little bit of lighting… well, it could cause a serious accident."

"Were either of you hurt?" asked the younger officer from the other side. His voice was youthful, but his tone was that of experience.

"Just a little shook up, right?" Ezra nodded at Josh.

"Scared the hell out of me," he agreed.

"You're lucky," the older cop said. "People have been killed in accidents involving deer. They're plentiful in these parts, so people have to be extra careful."

"Learned that the hard way," Ezra said with a smile. The cop didn't look amused.

"I am going to have to cite you though. Leaving the scene of an accident and leaving an obstruction in the road."

Ezra nodded. Josh was looking back and forth between the two cops.

"License and registration."

Ezra dug out his wallet and produced his 'Eddie Craig' license. Josh pulled the registration from the glove box. Both were handed to the older cop.

"Jimmy," the older cop said over the roof of the car, then nodded back towards the cruiser. 'Jimmy' nodded and headed back. The older cop looked down at Ezra. "I'll be right back."

"Yes, sir," he said compliantly.

When they were out of earshot, Ezra grumbled, "Leaving the scene of an accident. Didn't know there _was_ a fuckin' accident."

"What are they gonna find when they run your name? What kind of warrants?" Nevins asked.

"Well, it's not for selling cookies, Josh!" he snapped.

The older cop returned to the driver's side. "Mr. Craig, there appears to be a problem."

"Oh?"

"I need you both to step out of the vehicle."

Ezra looked over at Josh and nodded. They both opened their doors and exited slowly. The younger cop was standing near the back of the passenger's side. His hand was on his gun, the safety strap undone. Ezra shot a harsh look at Josh.

Thankfully, he understood. "Officers," Josh started, holding his hands wide out to his side. "I have a license to carry concealed in the state of Colorado, and I am carrying a legal handgun registered to me."

The younger cop removed his own gun from his holster.

From behind him, Ezra could hear the older cop doing the same thing.

Josh stood still at the back of the car, both arms fully extended out from his shoulders. "It's under my left arm," he nodded towards his own armpit.

Even though it was obvious without his jacket that Ezra had no gun on him, he could feel the older cop holding his gun pointed directly at his back.

The younger cop moved forward. "Dave?" he asked.

"I got them," the older cop answered.

Josh was divested of his weapon, and then asked to lift his jacket and turn around so they could see that that was the only one.

"Put your hands on your head, both of you," the younger cop instructed both men, who complied. The younger cop then moved in, putting his own gun back in his holster and grabbing his handcuffs. He moved towards Josh, keeping his weapon side away from him. He cuffed one hand and brought it down behind his back, followed by its partner a second later.

Ezra was then cuffed in a similar manner by the older cop. Both Ezra and Josh were taken to the back of their vehicle and bent over the trunk as they were searched. A small knife was pulled from Josh's pocket, but other than that, nothing was found.

The younger cop pulled Josh's wallet and opened it. "Josh Nevins," he announced. "He has a current license to carry," he said to his partner, who seemed to relax a bit.

"Run him," the older cop said. "The two of you, sit on the ground." He pointed to the gravelly earth behind the Taurus's rear bumper. Both men sat as instructed.

About a minute later, the younger cop came back. "He's clean. No warrants, no record."

"What are you doing hanging out with this guy?" the older cop asked Josh. "He's got a couple warrants out on him, and he's got a sheet."

"I uh, I work with him."

"Where do you work?" the younger cop asked.

"Sheppard's Moving and Storage." He looked back and forth between the two cops. He gestured towards Ezra. "He's new."

"All right," the older cop began. "You," he pointed to Nevins, "are free to go. Car is registered to Benjamin Sheppard. Your boss?"

"Yeah," Josh answered.

"Ok. Get up." The younger cop helped Nevins to his feet and uncuffed him. "Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Nevins. We had one of our own attacked last night, so it pays to be cautious."

Nevins was handed back his wallet and gun, which he returned to their places on his person.

"You," the older cop looked down at Ezra, still sitting on the ground. "On your feet."

Ezra worked his way to his knees, then was helped the rest of the way up by the older cop.

He was guided into the hands of the younger cop, who took him and bent him over the hood of the cruiser. He was very _enthusiastic_ about it.

"You'll have to tell Mr. Sheppard that Mr. Craig won't be in tomorrow"

"It's all a big mistake, Josh. I swear," Ezra spouted from the hood, playing his part. "I'll get this straightened out. They got the wrong guy."

Josh nodded to both officers as he walked back to the driver's side. "Do you need anything else from me?" he asked.

"No. And again, please accept our apologies," older cop said.

Josh nodded, looking at Eddie being held down on the cruiser hood. He turned and got in the Taurus, the door screeching as metal rubbed on metal, setting Ezra's teeth on edge again.

The Taurus drove off into the dusk.

"Well, Mr. Craig… shall we?" older cop asked.

"Love to," he answered flippantly.

He was brought to his full height, and his left eye was slightly closed, reeling more from the sting of the hood than the solid impact. He could feel the heat of the impact start to burn and make itself known, but it wasn't too bad.

"Before we go, I got a question for you, Craig. Were you in the area last night?"

Ezra's mouth opened and closed a couple times, knowing that he couldn't say anything to defuse this situation. Anything he said would just make things worse. Both officers had knowing looks on their faces; clearly they had seen the tape and recognized him, probably right from the time they pulled him over and got a look at his face.

"No?" the younger cop asked when there was no answer forthcoming. "Ok then. Let's go chat at the station." He spoke to his partner, "I'm willing to bet this asshole's done more than his sheet says." The younger cop started to guide the cuffed man towards the cruiser, stopping him just behind the passenger back door to open it. As he helped the cuffed man into the car, he jostled him ever so subtly so that his head smacked on the roof while getting in. "Watch your head," he added afterwards.

The older cop was already seated when his younger partner got in. "Jimmy," he said in admonishment. He was typing Craig's info into the on-board computer and didn't look at his partner when he spoke.

"What? I _told_ him to watch his head." He looked into the backseat with disgust before turning back around. "Son of a bitch didn't watch Fred's head, now did he?"

The computer kicked back the search on Eddie Craig, saving him from answering. "Huh. Looks like you got more than a few warrants for your arrest," he spoke over his shoulder into the back seat.

Ezra sighed through the steady throb in his head. JD's _'Eddie Craig'_ file, highlighting all his bad qualities and deeds, shone brightly from the computer screen. Only question was, would it help him or hurt him?

He remained silent as the cruiser started for the station, resting his head back on the seat, staring at a spot on the ceiling, and sighed loudly.

Sheppard was gonna kill him. If Larabee didn't first.

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JD sat opposite the conference room's window that looked out into the Oak Falls' Police Station Bullpen. He glanced up from his computer screen from time to time, as was his habit, scanning his surroundings. He was going over the copies of the books Ezra had sent a while ago, looking for useful information.

Henderson sat to his left, looking through the file he had been given earlier, obviously impressed with the amount of information that had been gathered by Standish to date. Vin and Buck sat at the far end of the conference table looking over the DEA's file intently. Chris, Nathan and Josiah had left the conference room minutes before, not saying where they were going. Not that it really mattered; there wasn't much to the station other than the bullpen, a small interrogation room, the sitting area in front of the front desk and the holding cells next door to the conference room, which were all currently empty.

JD scanned through another page of entries that he didn't fully understand, and started a search on some of the acronyms that Sheppard seemed to favor. He had just hit 'search' when he looked up again, scanning his surroundings.

His breath caught in his throat and his brow furrowed in concentration as he glanced towards the front desk and waiting area, where two uniformed officers were leading a cuffed man through the doors. Even JD could see from here that the man was sporting some sort of contusion to the left side of his face, near his eye.

"Shit," he hissed quietly, immediately garnering the attention of the other three men in the room. Vin and Buck were the first to look where the kid was staring, followed by Henderson, whose face remained a question as to what the problem was.

"Dammit," Buck said, getting up from his chair. Vin's arm shot out to stop him from leaving the conference room. When Buck shot him an angry look, Vin just nodded towards where Larabee was coming out of the Chief's office. The arrival of the new guest hadn't escaped his attention.

"We'll see how he wants to play this," Vin said.

JD had come up to stand next to Vin and Buck. "See his face?" he asked quietly.

"Yup," Vin said.

"And so does Chris," Buck added.

"Is that your man?" Henderson asked as he came to stand next to the other men.

Vin sighed. "Yep." _They better not have fucked this up by arresting him_.

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Ezra dragged his feet as he was led into the police station. He'd be damned if he was going to make this easy for them. Especially if they jeopardized this case by this arrest.

The two officers followed him in, stopping at the front desk. They pushed Ezra into the counter roughly, but making it look like it was Ezra's fault. The two officers then relayed to the woman at the desk his name, where he had been arrested and what for. She documented his arrival in the computer, which pulled in the info that the officers had entered in the field, keeping the record accurately and in real-time. Standish would be processed shortly.

His gaze was drawn to the blond man standing in a doorway to the right, off of the bullpen. As their eyes met, Standish gave a small quirk of the eyebrow, partly in apology and partly in a question of 'what now?'

With no immediate answer, Ezra broke eye contact as "Jimmy" escorted him through the bullpen and back toward the holding cells.

He saw three of his friends and a man he didn't know staring at him through the conference room window.

_Oh good, an audience._

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Chief Owens came up behind Larabee as he watched the cuffed man being led away to the holding cells at the back of the station.

She had recognized the man from his photo that had circulated, knowing that this was the man the ATF had specifically asked her and her force to lay off of.

"Oh, dammit," she said from off to Larabee's side.

Chris turned to her and she shot him an apologetic look. "I told them… I _specifically_ told them to lay off of him."

"Apparently, they didn't listen," the blond said as he turned away from her.

"Or he did something else they picked him up for." Without waiting for any sort of reply, she pushed her way past Chris and hollered, "Craine! O'Connor! My office, _now_!" She turned and walked past the blond, who had moved out of the doorway. "You're more than welcome to stay and hear what they have to say." Her tone conveyed that she would rather he not be there, and Chris was sure there would be some sort of dressing-down of the two officers.

Chris smirked. "You can tell me after you're through with them."

"You got it," she said, and continued into her office, not looking back.

The two officers she had bellowed for followed her into her office, and as the door shut, Larabee could hear them begin relaying their story, but was cut off by the no-nonsense pitch of the Chief.

Chris made his way to the conference room where his men were waiting. Josiah and Nathan had returned to join the group, apparently having gone out to the truck to retrieve a couple of files they had left there.

"Boys," Chris said in greeting as he entered, leaving the door open behind him.

"What's the story?" Buck asked.

"I don't know yet," he said, looking back over his shoulder to the empty bullpen. "But I aim to find out." He turned and headed out of the room. Vin followed wordlessly.

"Hey," Henderson interjected. "If you're going to talk to him, I have to be there."

"You're turning out to be a bit of a pain in the ass, Henderson," Buck commented. The man turned and stared at the mustached agent, seeming about ready to offer some sort of rebuttal, when Buck simply said, "Go."

Henderson caught up to the two men two steps outside of the conference room. If Vin and Chris noticed that they had been joined, they didn't let it show.

They entered the holding area, a space about the size of a studio apartment with three holding cells. Only the far one was occupied; the other two stood empty with their doors open, ready for use.

The man sitting on the small cot in the far cell looked up when the three visitors walked in. He shook his head once and let out a small chuckle. "Gentlemen," he said in greeting. "Do forgive me if I don't get up."

"You still cuffed?" asked Vin, incredulously.

"It would appear so," he replied impassively, resting his head on his knees. Both of his feet were pulled up onto the small cot, close to his chest. His arms were still bound behind his back, and he looked very uncomfortable.

"Why didn't you pick 'em?" Vin asked, motioning that Ezra should come to the bars to be freed.

Ezra sat up on the cot, feet flat on the floor and sighed. He seemed about to say something flippant, then reconsidered and approached the bars where Vin was waiting with a handcuff key. As he got to the bars, he sighed again, then turned around.

Vin reached for his bound wrists and stopped. The cuffs had been closed so tight on his friend's wrists that the fingers were swollen and bordering on discolored. "The fuck is this?" Vin asked, hurrying to release his hands.

Chris looked over, taking in the sight, but saying nothing.

"I think the officer wasn't too fond of me," he said flatly. He sounded tired. "They recognized me from the video."

"Is that what happened to your face?" Chris asked stonily.

Standish gave a half grin. "I'm sure I was _resisting_ in some way." His sarcastic tone relayed that he disagreed. He rubbed his wrists as he moseyed back over to the cot and sat down, taking up a position much like before, only this time his arms rested upon his updrawn knees as he massaged his hands.

"Ezra," Chris began.

Ezra cut him off. "Is that it then?" He blew out his breath and ran his hand down his tired face before looking at the third man, who had remained silent. Pointing at the man, he said, "DEA, right? You move fast… I only fucked up a half hour ago." His smile held no humor. He tentatively touched the side of his eye, fingering the small swelling. "I figured I would get at _least_ an hour."

"George Henderson, DEA," the man announced.

"Pleasure," he drawled, resting his head back against the concrete wall.

"I'm sure," Henderson replied, his tone laced with contempt.

Chris and Vin exchanged a glance; this was not the same attitude as the DEA agent showed before.

Before anything could escalate, Chris took over the conversation and directed it where he wanted it to go. "Ezra, what happened?"

Ezra chuckled from across the cell. "Would you believe, I hit a _deer_?"

"What?" Vin asked.

"I know, right? I hit a deer." He blew out his breath. "Fuckin backwoods hicktown. Left the thing there. Didn't know I hit it…"

"Left the scene of an accident," Chris said knowingly, closing his eyes in realization.

Ezra nodded as he set his feet on the ground and leaned over, resting his arms on his knees.

"Damn," Vin said quietly.

"Whatever, it's done," Ezra said, waving his hand in dismissal. He sat up, looking directly at his boss. "So, what now?" he asked, holding his hands out in askance.

Chris took a breath to answer, but was cut off by Henderson. "Was your cover still intact when you were picked up?"

Standish shot a glance at the man, and then back at Chris. Looking at the DEA agent again, he shook his head and asked, "I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Henderson."

"Henderson, yes," he replied, his tone conveying that he had no intention of remembering this man's name. He stood and took a step closer to the bars. "And are you running this op?"

"I-," he began confidently, but wasn't able to continue.

"I have been on this case for two months straight," the southerner said, his voice calm but his displeasure evident. "That's two months that you were sitting at a desk, eating donuts and doing fuck knows what all else, while I was dealing with a man that, as proven recently, would kill his employees at the drop of a hat."

"Ezra," Vin hissed quietly, trying to derail his train of thought.

Chris just smirked from where he stood.

"Listen," Henderson tried again.

"So, until you put in more than, say, a few days on this case, do not act like you know the ins and outs of it. And do not presume that I will ever answer to _you_."

Chris stowed his smirk. "Ezra…"

"Of course my cover is intact you imbecile!" he snapped, looking only at the DEA agent. "I was fucking arrested, wasn't I?" He held his hands out to his sides in a question.

Vin snorted.

Henderson said nothing.

Chris let out a sigh, and then turned to Henderson. "Why don't you wait in the conference room? We'll be back in a few."

Henderson looked at Larabee, his eyes angry, but he kept his tongue. He nodded once, then turned to Standish, shooting him his best glare before leaving.

When they were alone again, Ezra let his hands fall to his sides and leaned his head against the iron bars, closing his eyes.

Vin snorted again. "Man, you're a peach."

"Shut up," Ezra replied quietly, but with a smile.

"So," Chris said. "Was your cover left intact?"

Heaving a sigh, and not moving from his position leaning against the cool bars, he replied, "As far as I know."

"Why couldn't you have just said so?" asked the blond with a smile.

Ezra chuckled. "Cuz… fuck him."

Chris snorted in amusement. Ezra looked up at him, shooting him a lazy half smile.

"It's good to see you Ezra."

A moment's pause, then, "It's good to see you as well. You have no idea."

"You look like shit though."

"I don't doubt it." He stood up straight and took a cleansing breath. "So, now what?"

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	5. Chapter 5

Josh Nevins walked into the shop with a purpose, his eyes scanning for Sheppard. He caught sight of the man's trucker cap through the office window. Nevins approached the open door, and rapped lightly. Sheppard was on the phone, but looked up as Josh knocked. Taking in Josh's obvious nervousness and look of contrition on his face, he said into the phone, "Hey, let me call you back in a bit, alright?" and hung up, not waiting for an answer.

His full attention on Nevins now, he asked, "What's wrong?"

There was no gentling into it. "Eddie's been arrested."

Sheppard blinked slowly, and crooked his head as he let the info set in. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Eddie's been arrested," Nevins repeated.

"No, I heard you the first time. What happened?"

"We hit a deer, but we didn't know it. Cops pulled us over for leaving the scene of an accident." Josh entered the office and shut the door behind him. "We had the stuff I picked up in the trunk. Eddie said they were gonna search us, find the guns and then we'd be screwed. He told me to announce to them that I had a license to carry concealed, and that I had a registered gun on me, so that the situation didn't escalate."

"I'm assuming they ran Eddie's name, and saw his warrants?"

Nevins nodded.

"So why didn't the car get searched?" Sheppard asked, sitting back in his chair and blowing out his breath.

"I don't know. But if I had to guess, I'm thinking the cops recognized his face from last night's incident." He sat on the corner of the desk and looked down at his boss. "I think they wanted a few minutes alone with him."

"And you left him?" Sheppard asked acidly.

"He instructed me to go along with everything he said, no matter what it was."

"So they must have run your name then too, right? And the car's registration?"

"Yes."

"So it's only a matter of time before they turn around and come back to you and then to me." He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, blowing his breath out in a frustrated sigh, then placed the cap back on his head.

"Looks like we're moving shop sooner that we thought. Get a few of the boys to start packing up anything and everything." He stood and started to shuffle some of the papers on his desk into piles.

Nevins nodded and turned for the door.

"Josh," Sheppard said from behind him. When Nevins turned, his hand on the doorknob, Sheppard took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, head facing down towards his paper piles, like he was deciding something in that moment. "We have to… " he paused, trying to put his thoughts into words. He looked up and locked eyes with Nevins. "He protected us; we have to protect him. With his record, he's not gonna ever see the light of day again."

Nevins shook his head slightly and blew out his breath. "That's not gonna be easy. It might not even be possible. I hate to say it Mr. Sheppard, but maybe we should just take the time that Eddie gave us and go."

Sheppard looked up at the clock then back to Josh. "I know that shift change at the station is in 45 minutes. If we're gonna go, we gotta go now."

Nevins kept his gaze momentarily locked with the man he'd been loyal to for years – the only man who ever treated him like a son. He slowly nodded and headed out of the office to prepare.

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Chris glanced out of the room with the holding cells and saw the two officers leaving the Chief's office, not looking too happy. The two men sat at a couple of desks in the bullpen, pulling out assorted paperwork. Neither man looked in Chris's direction.

The Chief came to her office door and stood overlooking the bullpen.

"I'll be back in a minute," Chris said to Vin and Ezra.

"I'll be here," Ezra drawled from his cell. Vin smirked.

As Chris headed out of the room, the Chief saw him and came to meet him halfway, in front of the conference room, where the rest of the team and the DEA agent sat waiting.

"I'm sorry," Owens said to Chris. She waved her hand absently towards where the two men were sitting. "They're very close with Anderson, the guy that got attacked last night. When they saw the guy, their eyes got too big for their stomach."

Chris quirked up one side of his mouth. "I know the feeling. I've been there before."

"Does this destroy your case against him?" she asked.

"I hope not," Chris said sincerely.

"Is there anything I can do?"

He looked her directly in the eyes, seeing her contrition there. It can't be easy, thinking you just screwed something up for the ATF, especially when you just did _exactly_ what they asked you not to do. After a moment of consideration, he said, "Step in here for a minute?" jutting his chin towards the conference room where his team was set up.

She furrowed her brow in confusion before heading into the room. Chris followed directly behind her, shutting the door tightly behind him.

JD, Nathan, Buck and Josiah shot questioning eyes first at the Chief, then at Larabee. Henderson sat at the end of the table, still smarting from the southerner's verbal assault, no doubt.

"Everything all right Chris?" asked Buck, sitting up straighter.

"Everything's fine," he replied, pulling a chair out for the Chief to sit. Wordlessly, she complied, still looking confused.

"Is our friend all right?" asked Josiah.

Owens looked at Sanchez as though his question was one of the strangest things she'd ever heard.

"Vin's with him."

After an awkward moment of silence, JD piped up. "So… what's this about?" He closed the lid to his laptop, giving his full attention to his boss.

Chris leaned against the wall and looked at the Chief. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath before he spoke. "Eddie Craig is not who you think he is."

"Larabee!" Henderson objected.

"Shut up, Henderson," Chris answered, never looking at the man he addressed. "We're in her backyard, and we owe her the courtesy."

Henderson sputtered from his chair. He sighed angrily, then bit out, "This is on you. This falls apart, it's on you." The man then sat back in his chair, resigned to the loss of control.

Owens watched the byplay with skepticism. "So…"

"He's a member of my team," Chris announced.

She nodded slowly. "Like an informant?"

Chris looked down to hide his smile. "More like an ATF agent."

Owens sat there, a look of astonishment on her face as the info sunk in. "The guy in the cell?" she asked in clarification. "He's an ATF agent?"

"Yes."

"Wow," she said, eyes wide. "He looked like such a… a…" she struggled for the word.

"Scumbag?" provided JD.

"Delinquent?" supplied Nathan.

She looked at JD and Nathan, then back at Chris, still leaning against the wall. "Yeah…"

"He's very good at what he does," Josiah added.

She shook her head in question. "What about what happened with Anderson?"

"We knew about it, about an hour after it happened," Chris said, looking up. "Ezra said he didn't know what to do, and did the only thing he could think of that would have a positive outcome."

"I'm sorry, this is just a lot to take in."

"We understand," Chris said, pushing himself off the wall. He glanced out the conference room window to the nearly empty bullpen, then back at Owens. "What we have to do now is ascertain if his cover is still intact and if we can resume this case or if we call it quits with what we have. We have to ask that you don't share this with anyone, not your deputies or any other officers right now."

"Do you think I have a leak?" she asked incredulously.

Chris smiled. "No, I think it's more of a _small town and everyone knows everyone else's business_ type of thing."

She nodded knowingly. "So, what now?"

"A couple of us need to talk to him for different reasons," Chris said, gesturing to the rest of the room. "We can't all go into the holding cells if we're hoping to keep his cover."

"You can use my office if you need to," she supplied. Answering the questioning glances shot at her, she elaborated, "You can't bring him into a conference room full of people for the same reason you can't all go into the holding cells, and our interview room is full of boxes and other junk. We hardly ever use it. Small town," she smiled apologetically, "And I doubt you can talk about what you need to in the bullpen. Even for a small town, there's always someone here, no matter the time of day."

Chris nodded his thanks.

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"You know, I'm half hoping that this is done and over with," Standish drawled from where he lay on the cot in his cell.

"I'll bet you do," Vin agreed.

"I miss my own bed; my own things."

"One way or another, it'll be over soon."

Ezra snorted his disbelief. "Promise?"

"Let's go, Hoss. Get up," Buck bellowed as he walked into the room, Chief Owens on his heels.

"What's up, Buck?" Vin asked, glancing at the Chief quickly.

"Chris and JD are waiting for him," he nodded towards Ezra, now sitting on the cot and watching the byplay. "Henderson, too."

"Waiting where?"

"Chief Owens's office," Buck answered, as Owens moved forward to the cell with a set of cuffs. "Henderson's getting to be a bit of a pain in the ass, don'tcha think?" he asked Vin, who shrugged once in answer.

"Put your hands out in front of you please," she said.

Ezra got up and walked to the bars and did as he was asked with a sigh.

As she closed the cuffs around his wrists, keeping them loose enough to be comfortable, she said, "It's not so bad. Anyway, appearances are everything." She gave him a smile.

Ezra shot a wide-eyed look at Buck, then at Vin.

Buck nodded, _yeah she knew_. "It sure is good to see you, Hoss."

Standish let out a long-suffering sigh. "Good to see you too, Buck."

Owens opened the cell door and escorted the 'prisoner' out of the holding cells and towards her office, followed by the two ATF agents.

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Outside the small police station, two men sat in their darkened car, parked just outside of the main door's line of sight. As they exited their vehicle, both men looked around, confirming the lack of cars in the parking lot. The shift change would occur within the hour, and this was the only time that would allow them to pull such a stunt; all officers on duty were still away from the station, and all officers coming in for the next shift were not there yet.

Using the dark to their advantage, the two men left their dark sedan.

Benjamin Sheppard and Josh Nevins approached the front of the building using stealth and speed. The weapons they held, both under their clothing and in their hands, were no joke. When Sheppard wanted something done, he spared nothing. But the overkill of weapons was intended to scare whoever was in the station into submission, rather than to murder them. Although, he wasn't opposed to going that extra bit further if it came to that.

Josh flanked Sheppard to the side and behind him, the place of a loyal dog. The two men approached the bottom of the steps. Sheppard slowed and turned to his friend briefly.

"In and out. No more damage than necessary. Then we're out of here, with Eddie. This town's done for us now."

Josh knew the man was reiterating the plan as a means of taking a breath before doing something huge, if not dumb. Josh nodded at his boss. "I know."

"Good," he said, and took a cleansing breath of the night air. "Let's go."

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Dunne set himself up at the Chief's desk with his laptop open.

"What are you doing?" Henderson asked.

JD shot him a look and an eyebrow. "My job?" he asked, as though the answer were simple.

"Why is he even here, Larabee?" Henderson snipped.

"Seriously?" Chris turned to glare at the DEA agent behind him. When he saw that the man was in fact asking a serious question, he looked back out the window into the bullpen. He shook his head in annoyance at the DEA agent's belligerent attitude.

"How are we supposed to get any info from Standish if the room is full of his buddies?"

JD stood up straight from where he was leaning over, about to respond, when Chris's voice, quiet and threatening, replied first.

"Henderson, if you don't shut the hell up, I'll throw you out of this room and the DEA can go fuck themselves."

There was no further objection from the DEA agent.

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Ezra did his best not to smirk at the two cops who had arrested him as he passed by their desks. The two men shot daggers at him as he walked slightly in front of the Chief towards her office, with Buck and Vin following.

It was almost over. The long nights, the dirty deals, the _shit_ of being Eddie Craig. Maybe he would just ask to be pulled from this whole situation while talking to Chris, assuming that that was who was waiting for him in the Chief's office. Of course, the DEA guy… what was his name again? Well, whatever his name was, he was probably gonna be pissed.

_Fuck him_, he thought. He just wanted to get back to his life as Ezra Standish. He wanted to not have to wear these clothes. He wanted to cut his hair. He wanted a decent shave. He wanted a good night's sleep in his own bed. Two months straight of being Eddie, who was gruff and hard, was exhausting.

But soon. Soon it would be over. The thought made him quirk his mouth up in a half smile.

One of the two cops, still watching him closely, snapped out at him, "What the hell are you smilin' at, pretty boy?"

Ezra just shook his head and let out a breathless chuckle as he looked back at the officer. Jesus, he couldn't wait to shed Eddie's mannerisms.

He received a small shove at his back from the Chief, directing him to keep going. He couldn't help but hold his contemptuous look for another moment.

Looking ahead of him and focusing on the door to the Chief's office, he saw Chris through the office's windows. Their eyes met for a stark second, but then Ezra's focus was drawn away by movement ahead and to the right, to the front door.

The mostly-glass door opened, and two ordinary looking men came through. The young man working the front desk looked up as the men come through the door to the lobby/bullpen, clearly ready to help them with whatever the problem was that had brought them to the station at such a late hour.

Ezra's eyes widened in recognition and his step faltered, almost to the point of stopping. And then time slowed down.

Hands still bound in front of him, Ezra wasn't going to be able to do much to help, he realized.

"Oh, shit!" he drawled out in a voice that directly contradicted the panic he was drowning in.

Buck and Vin both followed Ezra's gaze to the door in time to see the two men come side by side and raise what looked like AKs.

The fraction of a second it took them to react, Ezra turned and toppled the police Chief behind him, knocking her to the floor.

Buck and Vin had both drawn their weapons before Ezra and the Chief hit the ground.

The first spray of bullets from the assailants' guns arced left to right, starting near the door to the holding cells and peppering the wall across the back of the room.

Nathan and Josiah, still in the conference room, dove to the floor and drew their own weapons. Unable to see a target through the solid wall, they started to crawl towards the open conference room door, getting pelted with falling glass from the window they had both been staring out of.

Vin and Buck dropped behind two of the bullpen desks, followed immediately by Craine and O'Connor.

Chris had seen the look on Ezra's face and interpreted it immediately. He had turned and drawn his gun, sighting the threat and then dropping for cover behind the solid part of the Chief's office wall. JD made it around the desk and down to the floor as the arc of bullets sprayed across the front wall of the chief's office, breaking both windows to the side of the door as well as the large one in the door where her name was painted.

Henderson also dropped, pulling his weapon as well, taking cover in front of one of the office's wooden chairs that faced the desk.

As soon as Ezra and the chief hit the ground, he rolled off of her and to the side. "Stay down!" he yelled at her. He noticed she looked dazed and appeared to have had the wind knocked out of her when she hit the ground. He grabbed her under the arms as best he could and dragged her behind the desk next to him.

The arc of the bullets swept now from the Chief's office back towards the holding cells.

Ezra had no weapon, and his hands were bound in front of him.

This was not good.

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"Nathan, are you alright?" Josiah shouted over the noise of all out war around them.

"Yeah, you?" he shouted back.

"Fine!" In truth, Josiah was sporting a pretty awesome looking gash across the right part of his forehead and into his hair, courtesy of one of the first pieces of shattered glass to fall. Being so close to the window when it shattered, he had also found himself crawling toward the door through a scattering of glass shards and pieces, digging into his palms and forearms. His jeans seemed to protect him from this danger for now.

Nathan crawled up along the side of the conference room table towards the door, meeting with Josiah and turning his back to the solid part of the wall under the gaping hole where the window had been. Josiah sat next to him. Glancing at the big man quickly, Nathan said, "Fine, my ass!"

"Later!" he yelled back, then swung his head around the door jamb to return fire.

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The first arc of bullets had been all Nevins, as Sheppard took the gun he was holding and smashed the stock into the man at the front desk's head. The man dropped like a brick and remained motionless.

The second arc of bullets had come from both men, and had been lower this time. The intent was to keep whomever from being a hero, and in this little bodunk town, heroes were few and far between.

Sheppard had seen Eddie being led towards a room on the right as he and Josh had entered, but now with all the commotion, he couldn't find the man they had come to get.

"Eddie!" he yelled.

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Buck and Vin sat in similar poses, hunkered down against the file cabinet parts of the desks, the thickest parts. The barrage of fire continued as the two men looked at each other. Vin, seeing that he had Buck's attention, signaled that Buck should break cover one way, while he did the other. Vin heard Josiah yell for Nathan and heard Nathan reply something, but he didn't know what.

Craine and O'Connor huddled down in a similar manner behind two desks one row closer to the gunmen. They, too, seemed to be waiting for a break in the shooting.

Vin and Buck gave a silent count of three, then broke the two ways, staying low and bringing their guns to bear on the two targets.

They returned fire as Buck made his way towards the holding cell side of the station, and Vin made his way to the Chief's office side. Vin's intent was to get to the unarmed and bound undercover agent and the Chief of police.

Vin fired three times, knowing he met his target with two of the shots. He dropped down again as the bullet arc came towards where he had popped up and fired. Buck popped up on the other side of the room and fired at the gunmen, but wasn't sure if he hit his targets or not before he had to duck back down.

While Buck was firing, Vin made it next to Ezra and the Chief, who was starting to get her bearings again.

Ezra looked at him with a look of confusion and anger at the situation.

"Is that Sheppard?" Vin shouted over the ruckus.

"Yeah, him and Nevins," Ezra replied. "Fuck! How did this happen?"

Vin shrugged as he reached to help Chief Owens up and sit with her back to the desk they were all behind.

Bullets tore into small stacks of paper on the desk above them, littering them with shreds of office confetti.

"Josiah and Nate have to get their asses out of that conference room; they're sittin' ducks," Vin said to no one in particular. He looked at the Chief directly. "Chief, can you get back there a ways," he jerked his head back over his shoulder towards the conference room," and cover them so they can get out?"

"Bet your ass I can," she said as she started to work her way to the back of the room.

"Gotta get you out of those," Vin said as he reached for the keys he had in his pocket. When his hand came back out empty, he swore. "Fuck, I dropped 'em somewhere."

"Vin, go help Owens!" Ezra shouted at him.

"Yeah, and leave you unarmed and bound up? You wish." Tanner poked his head above the top of the desk when the bullet spray slowed momentarily. He took another shot at the two men who were now using the main counter as cover.

"Nate and Josiah…"

"Are big boys!" he said as he shot another couple of rounds at the gunmen.

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Buck, Craine and O'Connor all ended up on the same side of the office, crouched behind two neighboring desks.

"Whoo-ee! Those boys are _pissed_," Wilmington said as he returned fire.

"Ya think?!" Craine shouted.

"Small towns…" Buck muttered angrily. "It's always the small towns!"

Several bullets peppered the desk where Craine and O'Connor crouched. A small shift, and O'Connor was no longer behind the file part of the desk, but behind the cover of just the modesty panel. Before Buck or Craine could notice or say anything, several bullets came ripping through the thin piece of particleboard and found their mark in O'Connor's back.

With a loud grunt and a fall to be flat on the ground, O'Connor was down.

"Jimmy!" Craine yelled for his partner, not getting a response. Looking at Buck quickly, then back to the floor where his partner lay, Craine reached down and grabbed the downed man, pulling him out of the possible line of fire."Jimmy, come on! Jimmy!"

"He alive?" Buck asked, firing off another couple of rounds.

"He's breathin'," Craine yelled. He felt his partner's upturned back, looking for the wounds. "Son of a bitch!" When Wilmington looked over, Craine wore a large smile on his face. "The vest… they didn't go through."

_Thank god for small miracles_, Buck thought.

As Craine focused on Buck's face, Wilmington knew something was wrong. "Oh my god," the officer said as he leaned forward and used his hand to stop the flow of blood coming down Buck's neck.

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Chris, JD and Henderson were less able to return fire than some of the others. The awkward positions of the door and the windows made staying behind cover the number one priority. The three men had pulled back from the front wall and flipped the Chief's large antique wooden desk onto its side, confident that the large piece of furniture would be the best cover. However, it also limited their field of vision of their attackers.

JD and Chris remained in identical kneeling positions, guns trained on the door to the office, ready to take the kill shot the second one of the gunmen came into view. Henderson was trying to summon help with his phone.

"God dammit," he groused as he hung up his phone, unable to get a clear enough signal for a call. "Can you see now?" he yelled at Larabee. "He's flipped, and his friends are here to get his ass out!"

Moving quickly from his stance, JD took one hard swing at the DEA agent, knocking him out cold. Chris shot him an approving look; they didn't need the distraction right now.

"Been wanting to do that all day," JD quipped, returning to his stance.

Chris smiled.

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"Josh!" Sheppard yelled. Without waiting for acknowledgement, he jutted his chin towards the bullpen. "Get Eddie!"

"Yep," Nevins acknowledged, and started to advance on the deceptively empty bullpen. The shots from the AKs had ended, but the fully automatic handguns (ironically, the ones Nevins had picked up that very day) continued to cover the two men.

Josh headed up the side of the room, wary of the open door of the shot up office to his right.

He cautiously moved to the door of the room, his shoulder clearing the door jamb and instantly being hit with a bullet, causing his right arm to more or less go dead. He grunted in pain.

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"Josiah, you're bleeding pretty bad here," Nathan said worriedly. The two men still sat in the conference room, their backs to the wall. Nathan was trying to stem the flow from Josiah's gouges, especially the one in his head and several on his arms.

Owens army crawled part way through the door, gun in hand. She met the business end of Josiah's gun in the blink of an eye.

Relaxing with recognition, Josiah lowered his gun. "That's a good way to get yourself shot."

"Apparently," she said. "You guys need to get out of this room. You're sitting ducks here."

"Josiah's bleeding too much to move," Nathan said seriously. "I need towels or something."

"Locker room is over that way," she said and pointed behind her to the area off the bullpen. "Towels are there."

"Stay with him," Nathan said, moving away from his friend to the door and, taking a deep breath, darted out and to the left.

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Vin and Ezra both heard the shot coming from the Chief's office. Glancing quickly over the top of the desk, Vin had to pull back fast as several bullets came at him.

"That guy's still kickin'," he said.

"Fuck, Vin. I'm useless here, what do I do?" Ezra asked.

"Just…" he fired off a shot. "Stay down!"

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Nevins stayed on his feet by brute strength and force of will. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out another gun, an uzi, and aimed it into the door of the office. He fired indiscriminately, 'spraying and praying', as he moved past the open door and to the relative safety of the wall on the other side.

He stopped to take several breaths, trying to keep the pain at bay. He started in his original direction again, and came around a desk to see none other than Eddie Craig, handcuffed, and with a long-haired man.

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Vin and Nevins locked eyes for a split second, and Vin pulled the trigger on his gun. The definitive 'click' was louder than any bullet Ezra had ever heard. A cruel smile came across Nevins's face and he brought his gun up to bear. When he went to fire, nothing happened. He saw the stovepipe jam in the gun, and not being able to use his right arm to clear it, the weapon became all but useless.

Ezra was in the middle of the two men, and leaned into Vin as Nevins's gun was brought up. When nothing happened, Ezra looked up and saw the problem. In the next second, Nevins brought the gun down hard on the sharpshooter's face, dropping him to the floor unmoving.

The whole standoff took seconds.

Ezra started for the downed tracker, but was caught by a large strong hand, now devoid of a non-functioning gun.

Sheppard came up from behind the counter and fired repeatedly at the open office door, covering Nevins's and Ezra's path.

Ezra was passed roughly to Sheppard, who dragged him swiftly through the door, followed by Nevins walking backwards, watching the now eerily quiet station house.

It had been three minutes since they entered.

The three men hurried to the car waiting just outside the door in the shadows of the building, looking innocuous as anything. Ezra tried to pull and balk away from Sheppard, back towards the inside of the station and his friends.

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Sheppard was having trouble steering Eddie where he needed him to go, _now_. He knew the man would be on an adrenaline high, and with the whole thing happening so quickly, the man was no doubt confused. But they didn't have time for that.

"Eddie, stop it!"

The man in his grasp continued to pull away, a look of panic on his face. With no options, Sheppard stopped and smacked him in the face with the gun he was holding. The man went limp in his hands. Nevins helped throw the man into the back seat of the waiting car, and they took off into the night.

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Inside the station, the eerie calm continued. Nathan, sprawled out on the floor behind the safety of the wall near the locker room, was dazed. In his dash out of the conference room, his footing was compromised by the scattered glass, and he slid into the corner of the wall at a good speed. As he lay there, he took inventory of himself. He didn't think he felt any new holes, but there was an ache in his shoulder that was ungodly. He must have hit the corner directly with that part of his shoulder. It was hurtin' enough to be broken.

_Wonderful_.

He moved to get up. "Everyone all right?" he hollered to no one in particular.

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Buck put his hand to his own throat, feeling for himself that the nick was just that – a nick. Still, blood pouring out of your own neck in a shootout would definitely cause panic like he just experienced. Craine had stayed with him, keeping him as calm as possible. The blood still trickled, but was already drying in itchy rivulets where it had flowed.

Too close.

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Chief Owens used the tshirt she wore under her uniform to help stop the flow of blood from Josiah's head. It still seeped, but wasn't flowing freely.

The cuts on his hands and arms she could do nothing for right now.

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In the office, Chris and JD unfurled themselves from the unconscious DEA agent, having dove on him when they had become targeted.

"He alright?" JD asked, starting to feel over the man for any bullet holes or blood.

Chris was doing the same. "Are _you_ all right?"

JD stopped for a moment. "Think so. Hit my head when we dove over him. Not bad." Dunne fingered high on his forehead where he had solidly connected with the wooden desk. The skin wasn't broken, but it would be an egg. "You all right Chris?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he said and tentatively stood.

The office around them looked like something out of a bad _shoot 'em up_ movie. It seemed that there was nothing that wasn't broken.

In the distance, they could hear sirens approaching. Someone got a call out somehow… neighbor or something, maybe a passer-by. Ironic, when you thought about it; the cops were needed at their own station, and had to rush to help.

Chris headed for the door, gun still in hand. He wasn't sure this was over yet.

"Anybody hurt?" he called out. After the words left his mouth, he realized what a dumb question is actually was. Looking at the condition of the bullpen area, there was no way everyone got out of this unscathed. It looked worse than the office he had just come from. His heart started to speed up as he looked for his men.

He came around the side of a desk slowly, first seeing boot-shod feet and jeans, then seeing blue eyes gazing dazedly at the ceiling, blinking.

"Vin!" Chris said, crouching next to his friend. He felt for a pulse, feeling it beating strong in his neck. He could tell just by looking at him that he had been hit in the face with something, hard. No wonder he was dazed.

The blue eyes locked on him, and he rasped out, "What happened?"

Larabee shook his head and looked around. "I don't know."

Vin groaned as his head started to throb in time with his heartbeat. "Help me up."

Normally, Chris would keep him where he lay, but today was anything but normal.

Getting to his wobbly legs, Tanner looked around. The sirens of several different vehicles were pulling up to the front of the station. Vin leaned on the desk and put his aching head in his hands.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered loud enough for Larabee to hear.

"That about covers it."

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	6. Chapter 6

Ezra's vision swam as he tried to focus. His eyes stayed shut more than they were open right now. Every now and then, the light cast off by a street lamp entered his vision, then exited as quickly as it came. He dragged his left hand to his face, his right accompanying along due to its tether, and felt a fresh flow of blood from his nose. He felt some of the wayward blood slip down his throat, inducing a cough reflex. He turned on his side and coughed, painfully, until he could muster a clean breath. He hocked and spit to clear his mouth. Only then, as his focus sharpened, did he realize he was lying across the back seat of a car.

"Eddie," Shep shouted from the driver's seat. "I need you to come around. I need you to help Josh a bit."

"I'm fine, Mr. Sheppard."

"You're not!" he shouted to his passenger. "I know you got hit, and vest or not, I want Eddie to check you out right now!"

Ezra watched the scene with an odd detachment, like watching a TV program unfold its plot.

Sheppard looked in the rear view mirror. "Eddie!"

Ezra's mind kicked back into gear. "Yeah," he said in acknowledgement, and moved to fit himself in between the two front seats of the sedan, resting a good portion of himself on the padded armrest.

"He okay?" Sheppard asked, glancing over to the two men, now with his line of view to Nevins mostly blocked.

"One sec," Ezra said, trying to get a good look in the passing streetlights.

Nevins said nothing, staring at the Southerner. His breathing was steady and deliberate, and he was obviously in pain.

Ezra found a set of keys in Nevins' jacket pocket, and on the ring a small handcuff key. Thank god for boy scouts. He freed himself of the cuffs and threw them to the floor, then proceeded to check Nevins. As Ezra ran his hands over the man's chest and arms, looking for obvious wounds, Nevins hissed below him. "All right, all right," Ezra soothed. "You're in good hands here; fix you right up."

Nevins let out a sound, somewhat like a snort but pained. "No, you won't." He said it so quietly, Ezra had to strain to hear him.

Ezra shot Nevins a questioning look, and Nevins looked down at himself, lifting his hand away from a hole in his belly, just below where the vest ended. He quickly covered it back up.

Standish had seen wounds like this before, and without immediate medical help, they were usually fatal. Hell, even with help they were sometimes fatal.

A look of understanding passed between the two men.

"Eddie, for fuck's sake!" Shep barked, trying to get an answer.

Nevins shook his head ever so slightly, not breaking eye contact with the southerner. Ezra understood.

"A bit banged up, a couple new holes where there weren't before, but he looks ok. He should see a doctor. Nothing we can do right now."

The corner of Nevins's mouth quirked up in a small semblance of a smile, his thanks evident. Ezra put his hand over where the fatal wound was, capturing the man's hand in his own and giving a small squeeze.

With the waning light, Sheppard would not see the true extent of Nevins's injuries. Ezra sat back on the seat behind him, but stayed forward, hanging his arms between the two front seats. "So what now?" he asked, wiping the halted blood flow from his nose with the back of his hand.

"Now," Shep said, "we get the fuck out of Dodge."

Ezra noticed then where they were. "This doesn't look like we're getting out of town…" He knew that Shep most likely had known where he had been staying as Eddie Craig, but the fact that it had never come up in conversation, coupled with the fact that Shep was now signaling a turn that would bring them right to Eddie's doorstep was unnerving.

Shep swung the car into the motel's parking lot, coming to a halt in an open parking space. "Get your shit, get to the shop, then we're gone."

Ezra fumbled for the door handle and got out of the car. Nevins rolled his head on the seat to look out the window at the southerner, a small smile on his face. Ezra knew it would be the last time he would see the man alive.

Shep rolled down the driver's window as Ezra walked in front of the car. "Hey, if you're not there in twenty minutes, we're leaving without you."

"Kay," Ezra said as he turned for the staircase that led to the second floor where his shitty little room was. He didn't watch as Sheppard drove away, knowing full well that the man was going back to the shop to either destroy the evidence or pack it up. In either case, he had twenty minutes to get there and stop him; it was gonna be close.

He entered his rented room, closed the door swiftly behind him and locked the deadbolt.

He whipped off his jacket and paced back and forth for a minute, then stopped in the middle of the room and bent slightly as he yelled at the top of his lungs, "FUCK!" Afterwards, feeling slightly better, he started to put a plan into action. He pulled the wobbly desk chair over to the center of the room, positioning it just so. He climbed up on it, his balance precarious, and pushed on one of the ceiling tiles. The loose tile wouldn't be noticeable to a casual observer, but Buck and Nathan had put a small compartment in the ceiling for Ezra a week before he moved in as Eddie Craig.

He fished around with his hand, finding the parcel he wanted, and withdrew it. He didn't bother to re-seal the compartment; he wouldn't be coming back to this life after tonight, and he didn't give a shit who found the small hidey hole in the ceiling. He hopped down from the wobbly chair, opening the parcel as he went. Inside were his service piece and his ATF credentials, as well as a burner cell phone.

He grabbed his discarded jacket and headed out of the room, not looking back. There was nothing of him there anyways.

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"You're trying to tell me that all this shit means his cover is still intact?" hollered Henderson, holding an ice pack to his jaw where JD had hit him.

"Don't even start," Buck said, getting up from where he had just been treated for the nick in his neck by a paramedic. The small police station was swarming now with Oak Falls PD and paramedics treating the wounded and dazed men.

Josiah had been bandaged up from all his cuts, and Nathan was fortunate to only have bruised his collarbone area.

Officer O'Connor had been transported to the hospital in one of the town's ambulances, but was alert and talking as they wheeled him out.

Vin, JD and Chris seemed to have escaped with the most minor injuries: Vin with a bruise growing on the side of his face and JD with a small egg high on his forehead.

"Enough!" Chris announced. He turned to the DEA agent. "If his cover wasn't intact, they would have executed him, not saved him." The command in his voice conveyed that there would be no further speculation as to ulterior motives of the undercover agent.

Chris turned his attention to his men. "JD?" he asked.

"I got nothin', Chris. He doesn't have his phone, so no GPS. No communications. I just… I don't know."

"We need to get in touch with him. Vin?"

Vin looked up from where he was rubbing the side of his face with his hand, eyes averted. "You serious?" He looked over at JD, then back to Larabee. "You think me and Ezra got some sort of wondertwin connection or something?"

"I'm lookin' for ideas. If Sheppard figures this shit out, he'll kill him. And I don't put it past him or that ogre that was with him to inflict some hurt on Ezra before he does decide to kill him."

"Mr. Larabee?" a voice called across the busy room.

Chris turned to see a young officer across the room holding up a phone receiver and gesturing to him. "Line three."

He reached for the nearest desk phone that hadn't been blown to bits. "Larabee."

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"Chris, thank Christ," Ezra breathed out.

"_Ezra? Where are you, are you ok?" _

The southerner dodged the question. "We gotta move on the shop, now. Sheppard's on his way back there; he'll destroy the evidence or pack it up and get out of here. He's not waiting for me if I don't show."

"_Ezra, wait, no. I'll send someone to get you. You at the hotel?"_

A snort. "I was. I'll be at the shop in less than 5 minutes."

"_No, come to the station. Don't be stupid."_

"This is too big to let go," he insisted. "This guy's killed people…"

"_We'll get him another way. Ezra, please."_

He could hear the worry in Chris's tone, but if he were to go to the station, precious time would be lost. _Sheppard_ would be lost. Then all of the hell he'd been through for the past months would be for naught; all the time spent being someone he was not… all the time spent away from his friends, essentially alone… Jon's life… The assholes whose merchandise Sheppard was shipping would ultimately win.

Unacceptable.

Ezra blew out a steadying breath. "No." And with that, he disconnected the call and flung the burner on the passenger seat.

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"Dammit!" Chris said as he slammed the phone down. "He's going after Sheppard himself. We have to get to the shop. Idiot's gonna get himself killed." He and his men were in motion.

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Ezra stalked up to the shop's rolling garage door. It was slightly open, leaving about a foot worth of clearance between the ground and the bottom of the door.

Bending in half and squatting, Standish carefully looked under the door. He could see the getaway car's four tires sitting on the ground, and could see that the passenger door of the vehicle was open, but could not see within. The garage door had been shut by someone in a hurry, but it had gotten caught on a part of the car's bumper. Inside, the shop was silent.

He lay down on the ground and shimmied under the door, coming in on the passenger side of the car. Slowly getting to his feet, watching the area around him for any immediate threat, he focused on the car. Nevins sat in the passenger seat, not moving. As Ezra approached the open door and the man inside, he found himself holding his breath. A little bit of hope and a little bit of fear; hope that Nevins wasn't dead, and at the same time, fear that he wasn't dead. Wounded animals are far more dangerous than dead ones.

Peering into the open door, there was no question that the man was dead. Nevins' eyes were fixed and staring at a spot on the windshield, his body unmoving. Being thorough, Ezra reached in to feel for a pulse in the neck. As expected, there was no beat. As he pulled his hand away, he wiped his bloody fingers on the dead man's coat.

Ezra looked over the top of the car towards Sheppard's office. Light flooded out of the open doorway and through the window into the shop bay. Shep's shadow paced back and forth agitatedly.

Lowering his gun, Ezra walked towards the office and the man within.

"Shep?" he asked as he came to the doorway.

The barrel of a 9 mil came to bear on him, stopping just inches from his forehead. Sheppard's face was covered with sweat and he looked as though he had been crying.

"Eddie," he sighed, lowering the gun. "I thought… I didn't know if you were coming." Shep turned his back to Standish and continued pacing.

"I'm here now," Ezra said, moving into the office. His gun was now tucked into the front of his belt, readily available if needed. He just had to distract Sheppard for the short time it would take the rest of the team to get here. He knew they would be coming. "Where is everyone?"

Shep let out a mirthless chuckle. "Gone." He sighed. "It's all gone now…"

"We gotta get out of here," Ezra said as he took another step into the office. His eyes were searching for the books, searching for any sign that they hadn't been destroyed.

Sheppard sighed again. "Yeah." He circled his desk as he pulled out the keys for the locked file cabinet. He half turned over his shoulder and said, "I hadn't done anything before you showed up."

Ezra nodded. "I saw Josh."

Sheppard nodded as he reached in to the file cabinet and retrieved several things, one of which was the black book. He turned and looked at his friend, a sad look in his eyes. He looked down and put the small pile of things on the desk, trailing his fingers lightly over the cover of the black book.

Ezra remained patient.

"I've been thinking," Shep began.

After a moment, Ezra prodded. "About?"

He sighed and shook his head once. "All manner of things, really." He looked up at Eddie and brought his gun to bear on his friend again, intentionally this time.

"Shep, what are you doing?" Ezra asked, genuinely shocked.

"You were talking to that cop behind that desk; I heard your voice shouting. Couldn't make out what you said, but I knew I heard your voice."

"I was yelling at him," he said defensively.

"And then, outside," he continued, as though the other man hadn't spoken, "you were fighting like hell to go back inside and get away from me and Josh."

"I was a little jacked up. You just shot up the fucking police station!"

"They cut you a deal? Roll on me, and they let you slide?"

"Shep, nothing like that happened." He held his hands out to his side in a placating manner. "You think I would show up here, _alone_, if I was trying to cross you?"

"You _are_ a clever one."

"Christ," Ezra muttered. "What'll it take to prove it?"

Sheppard was still for a minute, considering. Still holding his gun pointed towards the southerner, he reached down and slid the small pile of things he had removed from the drawer into a bag sitting on the desk chair. He then flung the bag over his shoulder by its strap, freeing his hand again. "We split up. I'll contact you in a week. If you don't answer, I'll know you were picked up for not being able to deliver on your deal. If you do answer, I'll know you didn't cut a deal."

"Seriously?" Ezra asked.

"Back out the door," Shep said and gestured with his gun, taking a small step forward.

Ezra held his hands out in the same placating manner as before and backwards, out of the office.

"A week, Eddie. I'll take care of this shit," he shook the bag on his shoulder and flashed Ezra an odd smile.

A fleeting look of horror flashed across the Southerner's face, then vanished as quickly as it had arrived. He opened his mouth to try to stall Sheppard, but didn't get a chance to speak.

"Shit!" Sheppard cussed, seeing a shadow pass by one of the bay windows. He took three quick steps forward and grabbed Eddie's shirt, swinging him around and pushing him forward. "We gotta move!"

The two men pushed through the door to the locker room, heading for the boiler room just off to the side of the row of lockers. Sheppard pushed Ezra off to the side and slid his gun into the back of his pants as he fumbled for the key to this door.

"There's a window that leads to the back of the building, to that alley there where the dumpster is. You can't see it too good from outside." He stabbed the wrong key at the lock, then cursed softly and tried another.

The distinct sound of a hammer being pulled back caused Sheppard to freeze. With his gun safely tucked in the back of his pants, he couldn't get it very readily without earning a bullet to the back. He turned slowly and deliberately, holding his hands in plain sight. The key ring jingled in his right hand at the movement.

"The bag," Ezra demanded.

"I knew it," he said slowly. "I knew you crossed me."

"You don't know shit. The bag, now." Standish shook his gun for emphasis.

"You gonna steal my business? Is that it?" Sheppard slowly slid the bag off his shoulder to the ground, holding on to the strap loosely in his hand. "We were gonna be partners, Eddie. We would have made more money than you could even think of."

A smile grew on the southerner's face. "I don't care about your money you son of a bitch. Kick it over."

Sheppard put his foot on the bag, but didn't comply with the demand. "I thought we were friends Eddie. I thought I could trust you. I treated you like fucking _family_! What the fuck happened?"

"You dumb shit," Ezra said. He took a steadying breath. "I'm a cop."

"My ass," Sheppard replied. "You're a fucking thief and a criminal. You're a piece of shit just like the rest of us."

Ezra didn't react to the taunt, but instead reached in his jacket and pulled his ATF credentials, flashing them at the man he held at gunpoint.

Sheppard's face registered first confusion, then disbelief. Then he blinked slowly, understanding.

And with that understanding came the look of disappointment that Ezra was all too familiar with; the one he saw in people's faces when he'd genuinely let them down. This man, who had taken "Eddie" in, had made him feel like a part of the family – had wanted to make him his _partner_ for Christ's sake – was looking at him with pure hatred.

Sheppard growled low in his throat, "You set me up."

"You set yourself up. Did you really think this shit could last forever?" Ezra shook his head in disgust and disbelief. "You're not that good."

"So what now? You gonna shoot me? Make it look like you were defending yourself? Or are you hoping to _arrest_ me?" he sneered.

"You're going to stand trial for trafficking, and you're going to stand trial for murder." Ezra's eyes burned with anger as he thought of young Jon's body in a growing pool of blood.

"There's no body, there's no crime," Sheppard taunted.

Ezra took a step closer to the man, seething anger. "If I have to dredge every lake and river in this county, in this _state_, I will find Jon. And it will give me great satisfaction to watch your face as a jury finds you guilty."

"A little presumptuous, don't you think?"

"Kick the bag over."

"Come and get it your damn self you fucking _fink_."

Ezra shifted his gaze from Sheppard to the bag for a split second, but it was enough. Sheppard swung the bag up hitting Standish's outstretched arm, sending his aim askew as he fired reflexively. The bullet slammed into the wall next to one bank of lockers. Sheppard was on him an instant after the bag impacted.

Ezra was tackled, landing hard on his back and knocking the wind out of his lungs and reflexively letting go of his weapon. Sheppard's body landed heavily on top of the prone southerner, and came up with fists flailing. Sheppard's first solid punch hit Standish in the face, hitting his nose and left cheek. It was followed swiftly by another.

Standish's head smacked back against the hard floor with each hit, and he was not able to get his arms free from the solid body on top of him.

Using his feet to gain leverage, he managed to roll both of them to the side, freeing one of his trapped arms. Ezra then coiled and punched with all the power he could in the position he was in. He aimed for the most effective spot he could reach. Aiming for the kidney, he slammed his fist into Sheppard's left side, and was rewarded with the sound of air swiftly rushing out of the other man's lungs, slowing his assault enough for Ezra to land another punch, this time aimed for the groin.

Connecting solidly, Sheppard let out a wail and rolled on his side. Standish rolled the other way, effectively breaking their grapple.

Ezra managed to get to his gun, and turned on his side to point it at the slumped and curled up man. Sheppard was looking right into Standish's eyes. Standish sniffled at the blood trickling out of his nose, but didn't lift a hand to his face to stop the flow. He wasn't going to let Sheppard get the upper hand again.

Sheppard panted quietly as he watched the green-eyed agent. Noises from outside the locker room door alerted the two men to the presence of others; Standish could only hope it was 'the good guys', because if it wasn't, he was pretty fucked. With his vision faltering from when his head hit the floor, he held the gun on the current middle of the three Sheppards he saw.

"You're a piece of work, Craig," Sheppard mumbled.

Ezra said nothing, concentrating on keeping himself steady enough to control the situation.

"Takes a special kind to be a con man like you. Avoid working with your own _brothers-in-arms_; making friends with the shady people, only to betray their confidence."

Ezra held his aim and breathed steadily, not rising to the bait.

"Do you even have any friends, Eddie? Or whatever the fuck your name is."

The barrel of the gun quivered slightly.

"You make friends, only to betray them. That's a lonely life." Sheppard chuckled mirthlessly, having seen the slight tell. "I killed that little shit for you," he spat.

Ezra knew that his face betrayed his shock, and Sheppard knew he hit a chord.

"You as good as killed him yourself."

"Shut your face," Standish replied calmly.

"Standish!" a muffled voice called from the adjacent room.

"Planned on doing it since you said you didn't like him. Just waiting for him to fuck up. And with Jon, I knew that wouldn't be long."

"Shut the fuck up!" he yelled at the man. The gun in his hand shook more noticeably.

"You're pretty good at being a criminal…"

"Ezra!" came from the other room, clearer now.

"In here!" he yelled back over his shoulder towards the closed locker room door.

"Do your partners know how good you are at being a criminal? How comfortable you are with it?" he sneered.

Ezra stared at the other man, his anger palpable. _Just shut up… shut up…_

Sheppard laughed at the tormented look on the other man's face.

Standish took a deep breath and slowly squeezed the trigger.

7777777

Chris and Josiah opened the door to the locker room and entered, guns sweeping left to right, looking for the source of the last gunshot. The scene before them was not what they expected.

Ezra lay facing another crumpled body on the ground, blood pouring from the southerner's nose. For a split second, both Chris and Josiah thought he had killed the other man.

A small wisp of smoke danced through the air above Standish's recently fired gun. The hand holding the gun quivered then steadied, then quivered again.

Josiah approached the downed man he presumed to be Sheppard, ordering him to roll onto his stomach and interlock his fingers behind his head. The man slowly complied.

Chris approached his agent, whose noticeably moist stare was so intense and filled with single-minded hatred that the blond wasn't sure if the man knew that his friends were here now. "Ezra?" he spoke softly.

Ezra didn't react. The gun hand quivered again.

"Ezra, lower the gun. Josiah has him."

Only a blink in response, allowing a tear its slow decent.

Chris reached out and laid his hand on the barrel of the gun, pushing it down and away from the other man. "Ezra?"

Standish took a steadying breath, then collapsed all the way to the floor, rolling to his back and letting go of his weapon. He dragged a shaky hand down his tired face, removing all traces of his weakness.

"Are you all right?" Chris asked, kneeling down next to his agent.

Standish closed his eyes and sighed. "The bag," he said quietly.

Chris looked around as Josiah led a cuffed and now silent Sheppard out of the room. A black duffel bag lay nearby. "What about it?"

"Look in it," he said, eyes still closed.

Chris holstered his weapon and opened the bag. Rifling through it, he found what he was looking for almost immediately. A black, leather bound journal.

Standish didn't have to open his eyes to know the look on his boss's face. "Happy fuckin' birthday," he sighed quietly.

7777777

Vin hopped out of his jeep and into the sunshine. He looked up and down the street casually, habitually surveying his surroundings. Not that he needed to; Ezra lived in a pretty good neighborhood.

He walked around the front of his jeep and up the driveway to the walk that would take him to the front door of his friend's townhouse. A gray squirrel paused in his bounding across the lawn to look in his direction and twitched his tail.

Vin fished into his jacket pocket and found a small chunk of donut crumb that had been crumpled up in a napkin earlier that day. He tossed the marble-sized piece to the squirrel, smiling when it made one springy bound towards the piece and picked it up in its small furry paws, then stuffed it in his mouth and bounded away.

Stuffing the napkin back in his pocket, he jogged up the three steps to the front porch and rapped on the door.

It had been two days since Ezra's showdown with Sheppard, and aside from answering some texts, Ezra had been keeping his own company. Vin hadn't been worried though; it wasn't uncommon for the southerner to need some space and some time to ditch his undercover persona. But Vin also knew not to give the man too much time to get lost in his thoughts, especially after a case took a toll on him the way this one had.

Vin rapped on the door again, louder this time, and leaned against the door jamb waiting. He knew Ezra would be resistant to company, as was his way, but he also knew that it was time to come out from under the rock.

"Ezra," Vin spoke loudly at the closed door as he rapped a third time. "I know you're in there. Open up."

When no answer was forthcoming, Vin sighed and fished out his wallet. In one of the more secure pockets he kept a single key that went to Ezra's front door. He slid it into the lock and let himself in.

The first thing Vin noticed was that it was dark; all the blinds were closed and the drapes were pulled tight. And second thing he noticed was how stuffy it was from the months of disuse. He made a mental note to tell Chris that they needed to air out Ezra's place when he was undercover.

"Ezra? You awake?" Vin hollered over his shoulder as he moved around the room opening blinds and windows.

He turned and looked around. Everything was as it should be, everything in its place. Vin walked over to the hallway leading to the bedrooms and made ready to holler again, knowing it was never a good idea to surprise Ezra if he were sleeping. Having a new angle on the vertical door blinds, he noticed some movement on the other side of the sliding doors, on the small patio. He altered his course and opened the blinds obscuring the view outside the glass doors.

Ezra sat in one of the chairs, a blanket wrapped around him as he stared off into the distance. His hair looked as though he had showered recently, but it looked more dry than wet at this point. His phone and gun sat on the table beside him, the safety noticeably on. It was obvious to Vin that the man was still a little bit too wound up to relax fully.

Vin slid the door open, knowing that Ezra had heard him come in and not worrying that the gun would be pointed in his direction. He left the glass door open behind him, shutting only the screen to allow for some fresh air to get inside, and sat in the other chair. He crossed his right ankle at his left knee, resting a hand on the top of his boot and fingering the hem of his jeans, but didn't look over at his friend. Instead, he stared out towards where Ezra was looking, out towards the wooded areas that surrounded the neighborhood.

They sat like that for many minutes before Ezra let out a sigh and turned to look at his friend.

Vin uncrossed his leg and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his hands loosely clasped together. He looked appraisingly at his friend. "You been out here all night?" he asked quietly.

"It would appear so," Ezra answered noncommittally. A hand freed itself from the cocoon and dragged itself down his tired-looking face. He stifled a yawn.

"You gotten any sleep?"

"None that's been restful." The southerner glanced at his visitor, then out towards the woods again. "There was a deer earlier."

Vin nodded slowly. "It's getting to be their season. Should be fawns soon."

Ezra smiled sadly, then turned his attention towards his friend, but didn't meet his eyes when he spoke. "Have they found him yet?"

Vin nodded slowly. "This morning. A little no name lake. Got the truck too."

Ezra nodded slowly. "His family?"

"JD found them. Wyoming. Chief Owens said she'd handle the notifications."

Ezra nodded absently. "Good." He took in a deep breath and blew it out. "How is everyone else faring?"

"Well, Josiah's fine. Got himself some real nice looking stitches. Kind of looks like he went at it with a mountain lion. Nate's shoulder ain't broke, but it's bruised somethin' fierce. He's in some sort of sling-thing that keeps him from moving it at all," he chuckled softly at the irony. "He's pretty frustrated with that thing but he's trying not to let it show."

Ezra snorted.

"Buck's got himself a nice looking little scar on his neck. He's playin' it up to the hilt too. Pretty sure he's not gonna have a night to himself for a while."

That got an actual smile.

"Chris and JD are both fine. Some bumps and bruises. That asshole Henderson's fine too. He got a knock on the head and a nice shiner, courtesy of JD. Not as nice as yours though." He smiled.

"That's not a good thing, I wouldn't think. Hitting another agent."

"Naw, kid's gonna have to serve a suspension. It was gonna be two weeks, but Chris worked something out with Travis so the kid only has to serve one. Think he spun it like the guy was hysterical and JD had to incapacitate him to keep him safe."

"Seems to be a lot of that going around," Ezra said and adjusted his blanket more around him.

"You won't be serving one."

Green eyes turned questioningly towards blue. "How's that?"

Owens explained it all to the guy you hit, that Anderson fella. Nice guy, actually. You'd like him. Anyway, he doesn't want to press charges or anything, and Owens made a call back to Travis to put in a good word." Vin let out a breath. "Still, JD shouldn't have hit Henderson."

"Sounds like he deserved it though."

"Course he did. And yeah, we all wanted to smack him at different points during the day, but ya can't."

The southerner smiled wryly. "I assume he's been told as much?"

"Are you kidding? Everyone's spare time is spent harassing the kid." The both had a chuckle at the thought of JD getting scolded.

"How about you?" Standish asked, gaze directed at the scraping on Vin's face, and the bruise from where he had been struck.

"I'm fine." At the disbelieving look shot his way, Vin smiled. "I've had worse."

"That's not what I asked."

Vin smiled in concession and looked down at his feet. He took a slow breath and sat back in the chair, gazing out at the wooded area again. "I've been in some shit situations," he said and then paused. "But that was probably the most scared I ever been." He paused again, considering. "I thought I was dead, I thought you were dead, I thought for sure Nathan and Josiah had been lit up in that damn room." He shook his head as though to clear it.

They were both quiet for a moment.

"I keep thinking," Ezra said quietly. "If given other circumstances, I could have been Eddie for real. Hell, in another life, I could have been Sheppard," he said dismissively.

Vin looked at his friend hard. "Never. Never in a million years."

"Vin—"

"I'm serious here Ezra. You are _nothing_ like Benjamin Sheppard. You are _nothing_ like Eddie Craig."

Ezra shook his head. "Sheppard, he said some things. He knew right where to cut to cause the most damage. How can you do that, if you don't know the type _so well_, how can you know what will shake you down to your roots? Unless you're _exactly_ the same?"

"You're giving him too much credit. He was desperate to try to get out of that situation. And if he couldn't, he was gonna try to go down swingin'." Vin sat back in the chair, ending the line of questioning.

"Well, we may just have to agree to disagree then."

Vin snorted. "And I'll just have to keep on proving that you're wrong."

Ezra laughed. "Sounds like a deal."

"Come on, get dressed," Vin said as he stood, smacking his friend gently on the arm as he headed for the sliding door.

"Whatever for?"

"I'm buying you a beer."

"I don't even think it's noon yet," Ezra glibly added.

"Who gives a shit? I haven't bought you a beer in months. I've missed hangin' out with ya. So go put on some clothes and make an exception." Vin went inside, leaving the door open behind him for his friend.

7777777

Ezra smiled as Vin went inside. Maybe he was right. Maybe Sheppard was just an ass.

"We need to leave some windows open when we go," Vin called from inside. "It smells in here."

"It doesn't 'smell'," Ezra protested. "Just because it doesn't smell like garbage and pizza…"

Vin laughed from inside. "Well, there's a reason why there's no scented candle called _'I ain't been home for months'_!" Vin called back.

Outside, Ezra smiled to himself as he stood and headed inside.

~ends~


End file.
